The Winter Dragon
A sonnet for the winter solstice (down under).
There is a winter dragon on the prowl, A slinking beast of sombre attitude, And of a cold and moonless night, it howls And spreads a shiver and a changeling mood. And working in that windy, growling gloom, The farmhands and the emmisaries talk In whispers of the world, their darkling tomb; 'tween barren trees, 'cross harrowed earth, they walk. Their doom, they think, is writ upon the sky In silver, shining letters spelling woe. Planets in their courses never lie; The will of gods is all that Man can know. And so they work, and wander t'ward their tomb; They never dreamed it might yet be a womb.
I remember the few winter solstices I got to experience down there, Peter. 78 degrees at noon, 38 by midnight. It was a wild time of year. Wanted to say this, though:
"And so they work, and wander t'ward their tomb;
They never dreamed it might yet be a womb."
Loved this; the rest of the poem was excellent, too, but what a great thing to end on.