The frigid breath and bitter snows
of winter past imagining
have stolen from the woodshed all
the fuel laid in store.
Upon the sill one candle glows,
its flame a puny, fragile thing,
yet there it stands against the fall
of night forevermore.
The hearth is cold, the larder bare.
To search for wood and sustenance
from cabin’s shelter I must go
and bear the bitter wind.
The forest does not gladly share,
the strong alone win provenance,
but stubborn as that candle’s glow,
what life requires I’ll find.
To trust is hard when all around
the boughs are stripped, the earth like stone.
The mind resists remembering
that spring will surely come.
Yet strength and courage may be found
in knowing we are not alone,
and in one candle’s glimmering
a hope to guide us home.