Winter Solstice
At the still center
Of the turning world,
All that was gone
Returns,
All that was daemonic
Is again made human.
Even as a goodly garden brings
Birdsong to its branches,
Effortlessly, irresistibly,
By the simple virtue
Of its own sweet grace,
So now the winter light
Opens a clear place
In the heart of shadows
Where all is restored,
Where all are born again.
Copyright © 2009 by the author