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.