Another poem in my series of old poems no longer in rotation.

It’s nearly the crest of the year.
I can feel the sun gaining strength
against the silent winter nights,
galloping like a horse on high.
The birds can feel it too;
they sing no more
frozen swan songs,
only sweet dawn songs.
The lovers nestled
in their cold cavernous caves
sicken at the coming sun.
They know only true love
happens in winter.

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