The dormant trees like sentries stand intent
on guarding darkest nights in icy air.
Though some are crooked, stooped or badly bent,
they keep the watch through hours of deep despair.
Last night, I saw the labored breathing start,
and watched it stop, my mind a maze of knots.
Emotion then dried up inside my heart
and turned as black as frozen plants in pots.
When columbine comes back in early spring
like flocks of little doves in red array,
perhaps my heart again will glow and sing
of love that held my hand through yesterday.
My memories might then renew and shine
like warming sun that hugs the columbine.
© 2014 Freeda Baker Nichols