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Winter Born and Live

Some people enter the world
to indigo skies,
the sun beams
on their blessed souls
season after season.
Never a day of
storms or showers form,
in their world
there are no winters.
Their grin comes
without expense,
their soul
without pause flourishes.
Groundhog never appears
to see his shadow,
for spring is
constantly assured.
Nothing did they do
to improve or disparage
their springtime birth.
Their blessed eternal Eastertide
is a purely bestowed.
Any other season
but the consecrated
spring they do not know.

Others enter the world
from inception
blizzards never cease
Hardly a day of a sunny beam
before began sqa ually rage spurned
upon their countenance.
One storm flows
in timely order
after the other,
giving them forever winter,
hail and snow and gales.
Zeus did not curse them
for a deed or word,
but in good fortune
they are not superb.
Though if to see their spirits
you would not presume,
that spring does not show its face
oft to the winter born.
They have a frosty smile still,
upon the winter they do not grieve.

They beam with joy peculiarly
like a summer baby born,
as if they are unawares to them
warmer days are forlorn.
Spring never begins for winters child,
though you can feel they
have a secret of enduring.
Never stopping to feel the bitter bite of frost,
feel adrift and ever lost,
in their winter tide.
Winter birth seeking a celebration
day to day from in the storm,
they rejoice to see the beauty
in winter solstice birth.
Their peacefulness heartily
defies the drifts of whiteness
with great acts of love.
They rise above their glaciated valleys
with compassionate repasts to share.
Are they cursed by Narnias queen
to live evermore in cheerless winter?
She is not their ruler for they know
a joy where winter is never keen,
they live aglow in a warmth
to a spring born is never seen.

I am of the winterbourne,
living constantly from storm to storm.
In the quiet before each whitewashed tempest,
I gather to see my days gone by.
I see unclouded firmament, sunny skies,
rainbow with a promise of better days,
a lingering unmelted powder,
grayness gone adrift.
Constant celebration of winter solstice
has me thrive,
with the storms passing I feel alive.
I have felt the sunbeams brightness
through the wintry sky.
My spirit feels springs lightness
in my winter life.

Some people enter the world
to indigo skies,
the sun beams
on their blessed souls
season after season.
Never a day of
storms or showers form,
in their world
there are no winters.
Their grin comes
without expense,
their soul
without pause flourishes.
Groundhog never appears
to see his shadow,
for spring is
constantly assured.
Nothing did they do
to improve or disparage
their springtime birth.
Their blessed eternal Eastertide
is a purely bestowed.
Any other season
but the consecrated
spring they do not know.

Others enter the world
from inception
blizzards never cease
Hardly a day of a sunny beam
before began sqa ually rage spurned
upon their countenance.
One storm flows
in timely order
after the other,
giving them forever winter,
hail and snow and gales.
Zeus did not curse them
for a deed or word,
but in good fortune
they are not superb.
Though if to see their spirits
you would not presume,
that spring does not show its face
oft to the winter born.
They have a frosty smile still,
upon the winter they do not grieve.

They beam with joy peculiarly
like a summer baby born,
as if they are unawares to them
warmer days are forlorn.
Spring never begins for winters child,
though you can feel they
have a secret of enduring.
Never stopping to feel the bitter bite of frost,
feel adrift and ever lost,
in their winter tide.
Winter birth seeking a celebration
day to day from in the storm,
they rejoice to see the beauty
in winter solstice birth.
Their peacefulness heartily
defies the drifts of whiteness
with great acts of love.
They rise above their glaciated valleys
with compassionate repasts to share.
Are they cursed by Narnias queen
to live evermore in cheerless winter?
She is not their ruler for they know
a joy where winter is never keen,
they live aglow in a warmth
to a spring born is never seen.

I am of the winterbourne,
living constantly from storm to storm.
In the quiet before each whitewashed tempest,
I gather to see my days gone by.
I see unclouded firmament, sunny skies,
rainbow with a promise of better days,
a lingering unmelted powder,
grayness gone adrift.
Constant celebration of winter solstice
has me thrive,
with the storms passing I feel alive.
I have felt the sunbeams brightness
through the wintry sky.
My spirit feels springs lightness
in my winter life.

poem by Sandra Dodd
Added by Poetry Lover
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