Sometimes I dream that winter’s time might wane
To let some warmer weather come instead.
I’ve heard enough its wild yet wondrous wind
which brings our woods a chill and snowy bed.
A tree once stood so stately firm and full,
With garments green that dance when breezes blow,
But cannot clutch the sunbeams anymore –
Its shadow now cast starkly cross the snow.
Perchance this tree, it dreams to wax, not wane.
Its sense, though old, has not been blown awry,
Like arms, its barren branches still reach out,
Its fingers still upstretch to touch the sky.
Not all its birds had flown in autumn’s wake,
And those that didn’t leave their nest still sing.
Their voices sound as sweet in winter’s time
As when I heard the warbled notes in spring.
"I fear to sleep," I chided – out of tune,
"And I should miss the melodies of spring."
Those voices sang "No time to sleep. Arise!
In winter’s time, we’ll dream with open eyes."
Gerald Therrien resides in Toronto, Canada, and is currently a Senior Fellow at the Rising Tide Foundation. He is a retired school janitor, an amateur historian, and wishes he could be a poet when he grows up.