"All that mankind has done, thought, gained or been: it is lying as in magic preservation in the pages of books."
-Thomas Carlyle

by Paul Lytle

     Shall I compare thee to a Winter's day?
Thou art more fair and peacefully are still,
resilient as the pines whose green remains,
thy touch as smooth as the untouched snowy hills.

Sometime it's cold, mayhap the sun will hide;
the year's not quick to stir as it does wane;
it is not turned toward anger, but will abide
in calm and contemplation, and there remain.

     Some poets seek the Summer, filled with action,
but action then is born of biting bugs.
No, count me not within that crowded faction,
yet let me sit with fires and cocoa mugs.

That humid season the other bards may keep;
I choose the one of beauty, long and deep.