When the winter winds groan, desolate and cold
While old oaks linger still in mossy slumber
Overhead, a promise of renewal settles in
Waiting for its time to be delivered.
When darkened days prolong, never-ending
Trying to dry up life like brittle bones
Overhead, new plans may be hatching
For time does not waste; it carries on.
Stormy weather will continue blowing
More battles in our lives will fully rage.
Yet die not freedom’s plans for our tomorrows
Time ever keeps them marching on their way.
I’m submitting this post in response to the WordPress Weekly Photo Challenge on UP!
These photos were all taken this winter, with all of them captured on the same cold, cloudy, wintry day except the one of the herons. That was taken one bitterly biting cold morning at my work. I snapped that picture just as the sun was rising and my ankles were f-f-f-feeling frost-bitten.
The poem is in honor of: