Reverie
It’s nearly the crest of the year.

I can feel the sun gaining strength

against the silent winter nights,

galloping like a horse on high.

The birds can feel it too;

they sing no more

frozen swan songs,

only sweet dawn songs.

The lovers nestled

in their cold cavernous caves

sicken at the coming sun.

They know only true love

happens in winter.
['Aigner Loren Wilson']
['Spring', 'Poetry', 'Poetry On Medium', 'Winter', 'Poem']