
Charles Pearson
Jul 15, 2025
Now Winter sheds her woven coat,
Lo, guides with gentle grip;
She sings her quaint and quiet notes,
Yet whispers firm and faithful lips:
O wake, my dear, my precious one, tis time you start anew;
Your slumber served your beauty well, for I’ve kept watch o’er you.
‘Twas difficult to shake the cross
Which clung on, white and speckled;
So mother rose from throne aloft
And called the day to melt it;
But still was nothing left to wear,
laid bare from head to feet;
So mother gave her crown for fair,
And dressed her dear with blossoms sweet;
Though still, it could not ever do–Â
To stay ‘neath mother’s hallowed roof; Â
forlorn it seemed her dear outgrew,
In springtime’s budding, boundless youth;
Alas, my dear, don’t cry nor fear–I love you all one could;
Now darling Spring shall take my place, so love her kind and good.
Yet yonder lay, her eyes alight;
With rosy head of curls
The brisk and brightened springtime sprite,
A blithesome little girl;
O sing and dance, my friend, won’t you; your dress falls well to-day!
O jump and play, my friend, ‘tis true that all is bright and gay!
She steps about the pastures, clear
Nay, prances in her stirrings;
Whilst eager friend sprouts up to cheer
With loose leafed hands of yearning;
Without the sways from which to dance
Once joy had taken root;
Spring fashioned winds, they might romance
Through splendid strums of lute;
‘Tis sure that sometime, even she
In all her youthful fire;
Succumbs to weary bouts and sprees,
And wishes to retire;
What fun, my friend…What cheerful times…You dance as has no other;
Though I must rest, my sweetest one…Go find beloved mother.
Erelong the months, gone green and gold
Once time makes up its mind;
Past longing days of slow unfold–Â
Dear mother comes divined;
Now Winter sheds her woven coat,
Lo, guides with gentle grip;
She sings her quaint and quiet notes,
Yet whispers firm and faithful lips;