Praise be! The old year has gone,
we are ready to be born again
here, in the dead of winter,
where saplings are pulled for space
and the stirring season begins.
Slowly, in this bright new year,
new beginnings take shape
as the light of day lengthens on.
Everything is quieter now,
winter tired and bare branched,
as we beseech the bitter wind
not to break our tender spirit
in the month we love least.
When only poetry and firelight
can fill the long idle hours
with reflection and warmth.
In this month of empty pockets,
a pale goddess comes calling,
inviting us to pull on winter’s coat
and come outside to play
in the snowy robe of our souls.
Where, with red cheeks radiant
against the ice-cold wind,
we become happy children again.
Yet as soon as fierce January
sets the bite of winter upon us
and bleakness surrounds us,
we curl up in hibernation,
belonging only to ourselves.
Whilst, in the heart of every tree,
beneath the low winter sun,
tight new buds are being born.
Copyright © Deborah Gregory 2019