browser life

Wanted readers of my blog to see the wonderful poem sol wrote a few days ago. And please take the time to read the rest of her journal (listed in the links on the right, see "solemndragon"). This poem contains many sentiments I share.....

Gift

Too quiet now, in the empty house of the year,
and my hair still wet
  from throwing snow
out in the cold
not an hour ago,
and i'm tired, too tired for play-

and too cold for snow.
This is the season where shadows go
to recover their welcome of spring.

After six nights of freedom, the warmth went home,
leaving us with the empty room.
Crumbs of conversations,
half-glasses of joy;
the sky looking paler than ever,
danced thread-bare.

I never was
on good terms
  with the winter-
nor with warmth, too common for my crowd-
but old age waits in the centre of all bones,
and finds new charm in the youthful grace
i never carried, young.

The young remind me of summer,
bare-shouldered and brave,
and i remember uses for youth
that i didn't before.
How easy it was to get up to get the door!
How easy to speak without hearing, to laugh without truth-
Unlike laughter,
  warmth is the trinket of youth,
and the grown have only one another
to wear,
as the world gets dark.

How hard, to sleep, to rest,
when the world and i were young
and so much together-
How little i cared, when i had the eye
of summer days upon days,
a dance card full
with hours in gold and temperate charm,
the flattering silver tongue of spring
(who insists how young we are
no matter how old knees creak out objections
or how a shoulder might thrum out
dull warnings of dignity, offered in vain)
to keep me careless,
keep me cruel.

Now the winter comes, and with it,
i re-learn
to welcome those who wander to my door,
to smile on those who later might be gone,
and to miss the warmth and light of the awkward sun.
I treasure what i miss, and miss the light,
gathering what i can in this quiet room.
Winter comes,
and with it,
comes the world.