Mouldy old log at the turning of the year,
once green,
now dead,
lacking sap.
Sad year passing,
gone,
dead.
Watch the turning,
burning of the season,
till white ash snow,
melting brings life,
again.
Not immortality
for that mouldy old log at the turning of the year
is dead,
but new life springs fresh
forcing through cracked,
raw, hardened earth,
starting again,
and that is what we, also,
should do…on and on…season after season…starting anew.
© Andrew Pratt 31/12/2019
Poem from Words, Images and Imagination https://hymnsandbooks.blog/words-images-and-imagination-now-published/
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