The dark serves as reminder of the light,
Allows its penetration in my breast;
The frozen sky can launch my heart in flight,
A quickened pulse, a sympathetic zest.
My self in youth, too mortified to live,
Reminds me to be grateful for my age;
Experience that’s passed through memory’s seive
Lends counsel toward the conduct of the sage.
The falling snow, hermetic silent fort—
Ambitions, long forsaken, now are drained
Of pressing urgency and self-import;
Their residue is what can be sustained.
I’ll struggle yet awhile ere I release
My will to unsought wisdom, and know peace.