Even in the darkest days there is light
Hidden from all except those sparkling eyes
That seek deepest. In the jet, sleepless night
Starlight glimmers in icicles. The skies
Even at the Pole blaze with auroras.
A cold, gray day's rain may freeze on hunched twigs
So that even a heartless cynic must pause
When the sulking sun shines. Even bigwigs
Must shed their conceit and be charmed
As a single sun becomes so many
That dazzling blinds. The light shimmers unharmed
By dark days and winter, and should any
Say such light's a dream, and cannot be,
I say their eyes wear scales, and cannot see.
What a music is made by the freezing rain!
A strange high-pitched squealing as branches shift
In the drifting mist; the muted refrain
Of dripping mingled with the swift uplift
Of tinkling ice as a quick cascade
On high descends glittering to the street.
I forget I'm just a little afraid
Because far off in the forest the defeat
Of a burdened bough's told by crack and crash,
And because too much ice means we'll lose power,
For the clouds part, and in the sun's bright flash
The whole world's become some diamond flower.
Our Creator is love; creation's the ring,
And what is proposed should make a man sing.


    • Thanks. Your comment was timely, for I tend to crash from elation upon finishing sonnets, (where the poem seems great), to despair (where the poem seems like rubbish.) I was in the grumpy side of this manic-depressive, agony-ecstasy cycle when your kind comment arrived.

      I searched my email for both “candis” and “evergreenessentials” and nothing came up. So I sent you a brief email to the address WordPress lists for you. Where did you get my email address? Maybe I typed it in incorrectly some place at some point. Mine ends with “.net”, but sometimes I type “.com”.

      I did find a comment from you I missed back in the “Pyro Chickens” post, and replied to it. (For some reason WordPress didn’t alert me it had come in, and also marked it as “unapproved”).

      This might interest you:

      I recently read that around the year 400 St Augustine wrote that, when a beloved gives us a beautiful ring to demonstrate their love, we’d be crass if we cared only for the ring and didn’t care a hoot about the beloved; in like manner, God gives us a beautiful creation, and humanity is crass if it cares only for the creation and ignores the Creator.

      That story is what led to the “Creation’s the ring”, in my second sonnet’s final couplet. St. Augustine gets the credit.

      I pray that your grieving friend finds peace and solace. To lose a beloved spouse must be the worst test. (I hope I go first).

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