By Ken Laue

Winter, I saw your death throes
against the mountains
In Spring.

You rallied a cold storm
And dusted the crags with snow
In March.


But the sun
Was more than a match for you
And burned fiercely afterwards.

And January
Had fled away
And was calling himself July now.

Winter, I saw your death throes;
I always love you,
Winter in Arizona.

My Heavenly Father put a magic in you.
I always loved you better
Than August or June.


Maybe it’s a hundred and ten
But you’re coming back again, someday;

Just like my Lord.

You’ll paint your landscapes on my heart again
Like His palette in my soul.