by Leo Wurgaft
Of the barren Of the frigid Of the hazy Of transitions Of the wood And of the fire, Or of the lake And of the briar? Mist rising From the ground? Snow falling Without a sound? Is it soundless? Is it loud? Is it not the absence Of a crowd? Of the rowdy? Of the overflowing? Of too much, Just too much growing? Is it solidarity? A chain, or else a rope? Is it full of hopelessness? Is it inspiration of hope? Can’t we finally see each other Outlined by the snow? Even in the darkest nights Can’t we still find peace in the stars’ glow? Can’t the clearness In the air Let us breathe? Breaths, you know, are rare Does not the ice Give us somewhere to stand? Everything needs a requiem Even the leaves and the land Lest we cease to sing, Our hearts need kindling for their embers Thus we find it in the desperation, Clarity, and hope of December Leo Wurgaft, 13, is from Amherst, Massachusetts. He has enjoyed writing for the majority of his life, and has loved Woven Word and the Woven Word family for the past two years. Comments are closed.
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