The Poet to the North Wind

it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
Fall is in full swing
With wind singing
and gathering storm
blasting everything clean
from limb and branch blown
bare, and to he who believes
winter to be beautiful
autumn is but its overture.

We have a notion
For the color of such season
A reason, even and perhaps
Why in its verdant lapse
It should turn gold and silver
Or orange and brown and gray
In turn in turning toward
the closing of the year.

We feel by living
That Christmas is the filling
Of our year full and then so
It climbs and climbs until
A bright song and ever-green
Speak something of our people
Who kindled hearth amid
A cold and barren place.

We who feel beauty
Call rustic desolate country
And see because of season
The thing within the thing
We must for we see it four
Ways, essential to our days
Is a change, but beneath
The thing grows, and remains.


  1. I like that. Christmas is a culmination and a new beginning.

  2. Yes, those of us whose culture is greatly influenced by Winter countries - which includes quite a bit of the US - have a feeling about January being the new beginning.


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