the wordlinks poetry project

winter i

I think that I shall die in winter, for well drawn nigh the end of spring my entrance made I in this world; my stuff upon the earth did fling. And then I think that all my stuff will have been gathered from the yonder winds, whence it has blown, and on the earth, the stuff which knit me ‘gain will bind. I think that I shall die in winter, but snow shall be my Touching-stone. *