It will be minus 3 tonight.

The light

Dies fast in winter.

 

 

There is a splinter

Of ice in my heart

With which I make art.

 

 

True, sometimes the sun breaks through.

But for now I rhyme

Of wintertime.

 

Spring will bring birdsong

But winter’s splinter is forever part

Of my poet’s heart.

 

 

Though birdsong does not last long

It may live on

When I am gone

In a rhyme  of my wintertime.