The Promise

Coldest, darkest,

Leanest time,

Midst the sun's,

Track southward.

Yet now,

A whisper of,

Promise foretold,

In frigid depths.

From every,

Faith and Creed,

The hope,

Springs forth.

Promise of,

Light through,

Dark, and words,

Of hope.

Of Prophets,

Messiahs,

Messengers,

And Kings.

Of rebirth,

Of newlife,

Of Green,

Of growing.

This is the,

Promise,

Of Winter's,

Bitter depth.

Already,

Neath snow,

Awakens,

The Promise.

© 2016 Carl Erickson