Irene Dodge, 2001

Photo by Gamaliel Masters


There will be time when winter comes
to sit beside sweet fancy's fire with books,
or weave with penciled words
the fabric of one's life and loves;
to pick among the knotted threads of dreams
for colors that may still be bright,
and so, with backward ranging thoughts
to while away the nights.

But now,
when all the flames burn bright,
let loving be the warp, the woof of life,
the binding arms, the thirsting lips,
the final fulfilled sigh...
There will be time enough
when winter comes
for sleeping through the night.

      Irene Dodge

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