Written by Timothy Horne
A lifetime is like a year,
With winter its final act
A season of creeping darkness
As strength wanes
And mind wearies
When our food is
The memories we hold
And the faith that carries us.
It has sustained us
Through many storms,
To this season;
Sometimes trembling weak,
Others sure and steady,
And always
evolving,
tempered
by each new tempest.
Now stripped of vacuous platitudes
And cosy answers,
Frayed, it hangs on,
waiting…
hoping…
Strengthened only
When laser-focussed on a cross
Where a man
whose ferocious, tragic Winter
Makes eternal Spring a possibility.
Text © Timothy Horne
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