Sonnet Iii

The first soft snows of winter falling now; Clinically cold, the wind cuts like a knife. The surgeon's scalpel deals a final blow To the numb fabric of the summer's life Whose yellow lingered in the autumn's leaves And warmed my hopes and brightened my despair. Threads of past winters brightly interweave Bright music from the myths of youth time where All things must end in joy. To cold white earth, The crystal messengers from steel-grey sky Assassin's tidings bring of the year's death. The seed of hope must wait and must not die. The circle holds its hope within its round; In deepest Winter, Spring waits in the ground. Kim Helen James December 1996