Black branches burdened deeply down with snow,
These silent pines like sentinels do stand,
Barring all passage—those who might dare go—
A fearsome fortress—breach us if you can!
Yet not so dreadful to a wounded heart;
Those motionless dragoons, in ice enshrined,
Whose frozen silver daggers there impart,
A spectral menace to the doleful mind.
Yet of this peril, I have now no fear
Within their ranks sweet death itself abides;
These daunting horsemen are my comrades here,
Whose icy bonds some solemn peace provides.
In frigid dark, a tender warmth I see—
Amid their stillness, hope yet stirs for me.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.