My hair is white as the snow is the season then made for the shivering old living with the cold?
but the kids jump for joy and shout---this is fun- as they play 'snow-throw' while I watch from the window
musing as I do every year as the new snow flakes one by one fall and tell their story before my weary eyes and their mysteries unfold
are they saying in the ripeness of time all that is must rest, decay and fall ?
winter is the white chalk that writes in clear letters on the blackboard of time-
it's the last chapter of life soon all shall be wiped off to make for a new slate for future generations to write lines of their own stripped of all that has gone before
farewell then, autumn, take your leave
but I in my old age am still stubborn and unyielding to winter's exaggerated pronouncement and here I stand to proclaim
should only youth be bold and old age be sold too soon to the ravage of impatient time is the song Carpe Diem a mockery to me ?
is it too late to celebrate my most glorious years
when seasoned experiences have wiped away all tears and a new anthem shall proclaim I am the Ulysses -inspired man who has weathered every storm ?
Though my hair is white as the snow it's not the season for fare-welling or to go into the self-exiled wilderness to regret or to moan
even in the bitterest winter there shall be new dawns when some warm light shall encircle still around hearts that dwell on love and beauty this is an awakening not the sunset falling the fond heart is singing joys are in the blooming
so winter I count no more than a metaphor
I am still alive and furthermore I know my life has not been lived in vain
Itβs too soon for me to say farewell and walk away