Say nothing, let the dead heaps of Winter’s drought
Lie frozen, let leaves buffer their weight soundlessly;
Grey clouds on the horizon will muffle the wind's sobs.
Soft shovelfuls of earth are deeper down,
Beneath the hard bitten surface.
Their mouths stay closed now, against insult or compliment
Their hands are open palmed, not grasping, not convulsing:
For they have received their portion, that which was promised them
Back at the first compulsive gulping of air, when new eyes
Only used to darkness, had to blink at the sudden influx of brilliant light.
Submerged again into inky darkness, let none awaken,
None disturb the newfound peace and complacency.
They float subterranean rivers now, with featureless shores
And all their dreams are still ones, and all their words are silence;
They are cold inhabitants now, of yet colder worlds
Where there are no ambitions, no desires
Where none ever desire to find entrance
But where everyone finds a place, at the end.
Life breathes in on only a single breath;
The same one, at its coming and its departure.
Patti Masterman
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/winter-harvest-2/
