In deepest winter, the ice does not come, Nor any harbinger from - TopicsExpress

In deepest winter, the ice does not come, Nor any harbinger from the Realm of Deathly Splendor. White, grey are not the colors that bedeck The land, nor hang in the sky motionless. Not to this point approaches the wind. The wind dares not invade such space For the gravity of sameness is too powerful. The wind’s advance is checked at the gates That lead to this land of crocuses. The multitudes gather here, yet the feeling is solitary. The ice, the frost, never enter, but melt And form the sacred river, sinking to the sea.