In the dead of winter

In between low granite walls
Two workmen stand in snow,
Watching as the steel rod falls
To pound the earth below.

Some distance from their younger years,
I pause in my descent;
The pounding sound pricks up my ears
And echoes some lament.

Further by the frozen stream
Woodpeckers tap their tone;
In winter stillness, cold extreme,
Ice floes crack and groan.

In the distance whistling sounds
Break through this winter day;
The noontime ironhorse resounds
And bleats a hollow neigh.

Down among the bittersweet
Descending in a rush,
Bluebirds peck the russet meat
And flit among the brush.

Small warm-breasted fires burn,
Reminding me in winter’s chill —
Though every creature waits his turn —
I move among the living still.

1/10/2017