Gentler breezes, wilder gales
Cracking branches, bringing down twigs,
While leaves drop as the sap freezes,
Leaving boughs dead and sorely bereft
In the depths of winter,
Bringing us down to earth
In our own struggles against the elements,

Struggles for expression from Broca's area
Hidden away in the temporal lobe,
Messages blocked by the fuzzy deposit
Filling the gaps like moss between cracks,
So that speech disappears into stony silence
And a new language is born
With one-forty characters, or nothing at all,

Until a thrush tweets from a surviving branch
Sharing its own message of joy,
And we join in, bursting into song,
Words and all, in praise of the creator,
And we're in touch, one in voice,
Waiting for new life and the buds of spring
Here in the depths of winter.

January 2014