Winter's Rolling Hours

Winter’s Rolling Hours The gaiety has cooled to a simmering halt, Joy punctuated by death and loss, The nerves vibrating like a trembling violin, The books on the desk reflecting cost. So silent is the now of a sunshine day, A Sunday without pressure of the world, To recover, to reflect what did it all say, As a New Year begins to unfurl. A dream of spring when the jonquils bloom, And redbuds begin to flower, The buds of birth our hearts to renew, Goodbye and away to winter’s rolling hours.