The Vane’s Bearing

The Vane’s Bearing

A cold gale you were,
    Cutting thru morn’s darkness;
Blue metal your blade in a wailing blur;
    Crystals bending pines’ redress.

Frozen still foliage
    Among felled cones – the earth below;
A master’s abstract seen offstage
    Among nature’s tempest flow!

Fading lights in the storm;
    Distant shadows they’d become.
Watching fast their dimming form
    Disappear in the howling drum.

Stacked grey stones
    Lined among once sprightly green fields,
Winding their way among buried bones
    And sepulchers long ago sealed!

Winter’s rivers and rivulets
    Vetting green and not immune,
Icing over silhouettes
    Arresting gratitude’s flowing tune.

               garland thayer

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