Winter's Hard

Bundle up, son In winters hard, You can't let the wind blow the warmth from your heart A storm—this is not a storm; this descends From heaven, it seems, and without end I touch for awhile that shaking limb Too soft on the end; in the middle—too slim My eyes not on yours, but the limbs that extend To heaven, it seems, or without end. Your work for awhile with stronger wood To fell with an axe. So you stand. So it stood For what? and for why? Well, that depends If it's fire we need; in fire it ends Or look to the steps that lead to sleep A mountain for me, for a boy but a leap Before you were born, they'd started to bend And soon they will break, so sooner we'll mend. And under the door comes rushing air In summer a breeze; now a threat; so repair But none of these things overwhelm. I contend: Don't worry if it breaks. It all gets mended in the end Now look through the glass to Norman's Hill Though barren of fruit, a promise was made that this cold cannot kill That one of these days, should God allow, What's there in the earth will blossom somehow This orchard, your mind, they need the freeze To come to the spring with a strength and an ease What quickens my heart and waters my eyes is Too soon will come life if the temperature rises Goodbye and keep cold, I know what I said Don't mean to confuse, or to fill up your head With too much supposed wisdom—only words Distracting myself from something that hurts So bundle up son, your heart, your mind Be naked above, grab the wind from behind Our life is on earth, to that we attend But heaven, I hear, is without end A storm this is not. This is how we ascend And heaven, I hear, is without end