I write a poem for these times,
as winter is here and so much
hidden fear follows us across
the strangeness of these days,
and no one knows when spring will
come and if the flowers of the soul
will sprout again from out of this dark
history that sweeps us along in
its storms of clinging uncertainty.
I write this verse for all of you who
make your way across such winter days
and weeks with no more than a flickering
hope that these times will not be the only
ones to define you and seize your human
passion to take all that is on offer in this life.
Perhaps tomorrow the flowers will show their
colours once more and you and I will smell the scent
again and sit together in the sun and chat about the
winter days that came with fear and robbed our joy.