In The Winter

I’ve always thought it best
to die in the winter;
to lie serenely,
as the meadows do,
when the green grass of youth
has given way to the colder days of age

long after the glorious growth of spring,
the will-testing heat of summer,
and the metamorphosis of fall,
have each had their influence
on the journey of life

too often I’ve witnessed death in springtime

it leaves in its wake a perennial ache;
a mourning for life not fully bloomed
lingers in the garden

yes, I’ve always thought it best
to die in the winter;
tucked nicely in a comforter of white;
welcoming, with satisfied heart,
the well-earned rest, and
golden silence of eternal sleep

to reach the winter,
is to have experienced
the full cycle of life

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