A Dark Winter, a poem by John Gilham

That winter, I realised

why the Scandinavians are so sad:

for here too, no light for months,

a glass wind off the Arctic

and all the things you look for, absent:

snowdrops, daffodils, frogs, blossom -

all on hold.

Drear days

that shrivel the soul like a vow of silence,

that geld the desire to do, to make,

almost, to be.

Then, the tinge of purple on the wold,

the burst of white along the hedge,

brown earth from black,

and celandine, bluebells, birdsong,

bees.

John Gilham was the editor of Dream Catcher Magazine and is a widely published writer.

His poetry collection, Where The Hares Are has just been published by Stairwell books.