+2I know not if the voice of man can reach to the sky,
I know not if the god’s will hear if I pray,
I know not if the gifts I have will all be granted,
I know not what will come to pass in future days,
But I hope only good will come from my love to you.
This poem was written/submitted by Mayan.
-1Good morning on this late winter day
When birds do sing, new boughs do sway
When the air is sweet with impending spring
On the wings of the seasons it does bring
The softness of your skin so smooth
The look in your soft eyes of blue
The gentle rain when it does fall
Reminds of your touch, light and small
Trace on my lips with your fingers stay
Good morning on this late winter day.
This poem was written/submitted by MichaelAngel..
0It sifts from leaden sieves,
It powders all the wood,
It fills with alabaster wool
The wrinkles of the road.
It makes an even face
Of mountain and of plain,–
Unbroken forehead from the east
Unto the east again.
It reaches to the fence,
It wraps it, rail by rail,
Till it is lost in fleeces;
It flings a crystal veil.
On stump and stack and stem,–
The summer’s empty room,
Acres of seams where harvests were,
Recordless, but for them.
It ruffles wrist of posts,
As ankles of a queen,–
Then still its artisans like ghosts,
Denying they have been.
This poem was written/submitted by Emily Dickinson.
0The snow has blanketed the earth and there is such quiet about. As the sun shines, the snow sparkles with such beauty It’s like a thousand diamonds that sparkle when the snow glistens in the sun.
It seems so appropriate that the world should have Winter … to rest. There is so much to prepare for, with Spring just around the corner, and all the activity that Summer brought with it.
Skiing through the woods, I can even smell the freshness of the snow. The silence, as the snow falls , has me engulfed in thought. I see fresh tracks of those wood critters who have been searching for food.
I feel there eyes upon me as I ski pass them, and know their presence. They stay quiet … so as not to disturb the day … and not to be seen. We are as one in the quiet of the woods on a snowy day.
It would be a good place to stop here and rest. The trees are laden with snow … makes me think of snow ghosts, and some branches even have remnants of ice frozen on them.
As the sun shines, the snow begins to melt on the trees and the branches are freed of their burdens of heavy snow. The branches appear to weep with the melting of the ice.
It is not a tear of sadness however that is shed, only an acknowledgment of change and that’s the beauty of the quiet of the wood … it displays itself so well.
To acknowledge the quiet and peace, is to know that I am such a part of this. That is the way of it … I am an integral part of the snow, the sun, the quiet the world and it too is a part of me … that is the way of the circle.
This poem was written/submitted by Cougar Wisdom.
0The wintry west extends his blast,
And hail and rain does blaw;
Or the stormy north sends driving forth
The blinding sleet and snaw:
While, tumbling brown, the burn comes down,
And roars frae bank to brae;
And bird and beast in covert rest,
And pass the heartless day.
“The sweeping blast, the sky o’ercast,”
The joyless winter day
Let others fear, to me more dear
Than all the pride of May:
The tempest’s howl, it soothes my soul,
My griefs it seems to join;
The leafless trees my fancy please,
Their fate resembles mine!
Thou Power Supreme, whose mighty scheme
These woes of mine fulfil,
Here firm I rest; they must be best,
Because they are Thy will!
Then all I want—O do Thou grant
This one request of mine!—
Since to enjoy Thou dost deny,
This poem was written/submitted by Robert Burns (1781).
0Now winter nights enlarge
The number of their hours,
And clouds their storms discharge
Upon the airy towers.
Let now the chimneys blaze,
And cups o’erflow with wine;
Let well-tuned words amaze
With harmony divine.
Now yellow waxen lights
Shall wait on honey love,
While youthful revels, masques, and courtly sights
Sleep’s leaden spells remove.
This time doth well dispense
With lovers’ long discourse;
Much speech hath some defence,
Though beauty no remorse.
All do not all things well;
Some measures comely tread,
Some knotted riddles tell,
Some poems smoothly read.
The summer hath his joys
And winter his delights;
Though love and all his pleasures are but toys,
They shorten tedious nights.
This poem was written/submitted by Thomas Campion (1617).
0I like the days in winter
when paths are packed with snow
and feet make creaky footsteps
wherever footsteps go,
and
I like days in winter
when snow lies soft and deep
and footsteps go so quietly
you’d think they were asleep.
This poem was written/submitted by Aileen Fisher.
