The World So Still E-Book

May Woodham

• Herausgeber: tredition
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 15

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

It is during the season of winter when we, like nature, ease up on certain activities and turn inward to reflect. Still, we find plenty to see and do: the Christmas shopping, which can turn into mayhem, going out to enjoy the winter landscape, to keep the traditions of this time of year. It is also a splendid occasion to curl up and enjoy these poems dedicated to a season of cold and darkness but, likewise, of light and warmth.

Leseprobe

The World So Still

ALSO BY MAY WOODHAMYOU ARE IMMORTAL (POEMS)

The World So Still

Poems

MAY WOODHAM

© 2021 May Woodham

Buchsatz von tredition, erstellt mit dem tredition Designer

ISBN Softcover: 978-3-347-47112-2

ISBN Hardcover: 978-3-347-47117-7

ISBN E-Book: 978-3-347-47119-1

ISBN Großdruck: 978-3-347-47125-2

Druck und Distribution im Auftrag des Autors:

tredition GmbH, Halenreie 40-44, 22359 Hamburg, Germany

Das Werk, einschließlich seiner Teile, ist urheberrechtlich geschützt. Für die Inhalte ist der Autor verantwortlich. Jede Verwertung ist ohne seine Zustimmung unzulässig. Die Publikation und Verbreitung erfolgen im Auftrag des Autors, zu erreichen unter: tredition GmbH, Abteilung "Impressumservice", Halenreie 40-44, 22359 Hamburg, Deutschland.

Dream In A Winter’s Night

Hark! The voice of winter,

Its quiet song comes down,

From beyond the blue,

Wanders far around.

What spirits and visions,

They are everywhere;

The land, so cold and still,

While life is surely there.

Houses too in a dream,

Lights with sleepy twinkle;

Soft and wondrous breath

Plays a gentle tinkle.

Whoe’er does not perceive

This enchantment present,

Ill-fated ignorance

Rejoicing does prevent.

Morning Blossoms

Nighttime gives them life,

They softly wake unseen

And bloom at morning hour,

Once barren pane had been.

They of such splendour,

Of which no likeness show,

Not in an earthly garden

We ever see them grow.

From winter’s spirit,

Ornate and pure have sprung;

All in spite of ice and frost,

Without one root were spun.

First Advent

This is the beginning

Of a certain time

We again are waiting on;

Stillest season has now some

Other secret rhyme.

How attainable it is,

In the way we live;

When all modern attractions

Direct our petty passions –

One more fateful shift?

Treasured customs are bound

To bygone ages,

With our forebears leading

Lives of much humbler keeping,

Hardship their wages.

Workmanship, their tradition