Winter still, and I am pale, brittle

My face dry and lined, my cloak threadbare

And yet

I am of use.

The small spirits perch upon my shoulder

Find a place from which to see this colder world

I help them find wisdom

Experience

Life.

I am not dead, nor dying

Only waiting

Waiting for warmer winds.

When summer comes,

I shall wear a shawl of brightest gold

Above a dress with emerald fringe

I shall turn my brown face toward the sun all day

And feel it warm my spirit.

I shall adorn the earth and feed the world

And I shall dance in the summer light.

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