What can be offered to the afternoon
but words and words; there’s nothing new to say
and so I’m silent as the winter’s moon
with her half smile over the brilliant day.
The clouds have all been chased off by the sun,
her sole companion in an empty sky,
and I despoil blank pages one by one
that I might capture things that cannot die–
that beauty might be bound with phrase or word–
the immortal heavens immortalized
with rhyme; it is absurd, absurd, absurd!
for I could die voiceless and still these will be prized.
     Look up. The glory, joy invincible, will rend
     these lofty skies and life outlive this poet’s end.

Other poems on Moss Kingdom about winter: