Midwinter mourning

There is a time for living

And a time for dying

They say, and 

They may be right, 

Though these ends do not feel as 

Ends but new beginnings

As the midwinter days slide to their

Shortest, 

Nights their longest

The Sun at his lowest ebb.

And yet the land is fresh

The morning lorikeets raucous

On the Eucalypt flower 

Yellow tufted parrotbush, 

A world awash in fullness.

Mists wisping slowly through the trees

Across the roads as we rush on by

Rush on by

In not notice, in mindless busy.

And a dog died, a dearly beloved,

So we grieve, in our way,

For the light that has left

The world and we wait 

For renew

Of the hope 

Of the life 

Of the spark

That lights a fire 

In the heart

That was always beating

In midwinter.