Photo by Barbara Kourajian

We think you might like "Solstice," a poem of hope in dark times by a friend who wishes not to be identified by name. – Meg Graham

Solstice

In the soft, slant rays

of December sun,

in its late, rosy rising

and in the quiet sunrise radiance

that lasts the whole short day,

we can see for ourselves

how dangerously the spinning earth

has tilted from the sun.

We can sense for ourselves

the delicate balance,

the perfect poise

with which, at the last possible moment,

the ponderous globe begins to right herself

and, after the longest endurable night,

gently relents,

leans towards the light.

In the air’s strange mildness,

in the ground’s bareness,

in the flowering of branches

which should be hung with snow,

we can see for ourselves

how dangerously the seasons

have wandered from their course.

We can sense for ourselves

a delicate balance

lost.

And yet, we, too,

at this last possible moment

might still turn back,

still find a way

to let our planet breathe again

and blossom in her seasons.

And, should we choose

to turn again,

with what sweet hope the earth

might welcome winter’s turning

and the new year’s holy birth.

Annonymous