No need for you clanking old sycamores
to shake your death rattle at me,
Wild goose from Manitoba,
precise in your perfect V:
honk if you love summer,
if you remember the blue
of the last of the autumn cornflowers.
Nobody need broadcast
the flight of the sun
and the triumph of night,
I can feel it in the tips of my fingers,
in the pores of my skin,
as the solstice crawls
like wooly caterpillers
toward consumation
toward annihilation
and finally toward light.
No regrets, only the embers
of remembrance flickering
in the ripe kindling
of the first fire of the season.
Winter will have its way
and winter will go its way.
Sonny Rainshine
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/winter-solstice-invocation/
