They have tried to tell me
What I am to do
Who I am to be
To this world
They ask of me
To do what no one else
Knows how to do
Simply
Because of
My name
After cold has cut
The hope of buds and bulbs
After wind has shaken
Trees naked and left them
Blackened from the frost
After snow has smothered
Every blade of grass
And sent the creatures
Of the wood into a sleep
Which consumes nearly half
Their lives
They call upon me
I am to melt the cold and frost
I am to raise the dead
And nourish the forest
And save the soil
From the bitterness of Winter
But what if I feel weak?
What if I no longer can stir
Warmth back into the wind?
What if my breath is not strong enough
To blow away the clouds from the sun?
What if I wither?
Then who can they call upon?
Who if not I
Can ease away the ice and snow?
The Summer is too harsh
Too sudden
For the gentle
Sowing of my Spring
The Fall is too weary
Too burdened
For the heavy
Raising of life out the earth
The Winter is too stubborn
Too relentless
For the mercy
Of letting go
And if the Summer won’t soften
And the Fall won’t liven
And the Winter won’t give in
Then I
The withering Spring
Must begin