Always Winter
d3
Jadis
The first flakes were red, not white.
Before light, before night, there was
an everlasting tree.
Before the tree,
if you held a stone
to your ear
It would whisper
of seeds beneath soil--
the buds restless.
If you warmed the stone
between your hands,
it would pulse like the heart
of a traitor,
like a blush
on your too-white skin.
d3
Jadis
The first flakes were red, not white.
Before light, before night, there was
an everlasting tree.
Before the tree,
if you held a stone
to your ear
It would whisper
of seeds beneath soil--
the buds restless.
If you warmed the stone
between your hands,
it would pulse like the heart
of a traitor,
like a blush
on your too-white skin.
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson