[Dream Gate] [Poet Glas]


Ten thousand years since Ice
Loosed its grip on us:
I feel its chill.
And all our tools and words
Cannot keep back the winds
Of ancient snow.
Circled walls of Crete
Gave way to cattle-skulls
And now are gone.
Cattle-skull and Moon
Have raised their city-walls,
Now buried deep.
Oak and ash and thorn
Have given way to steel,
And yet it snows.
Birch and Rowan and Ash
Lie mutely carved in stone:
A winter's sigh.
My soul is frosted rime
As just before the dawn
Hope shivers; stills.

copyright 11 August 2001, Chattanooga
by Earle B. 'Glas' Durboraw

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