We hear it very often when it’s wet
and cold: the curse, the murmur, the complaint;
as if we held almighty God in debt
to give us warmth and sunlight, and to paint
the world bright green without the snow and rain;
to send fair Summer, pleasant Fall and Spring
without the cold and wind — without the pain —
as if we did not know that would not bring
more happiness, but total, painful loss.
Can there be life without the winter rain?
Can we accept its gifts and still complain?
We often hate the cold that makes us strong.
We learn to love the light when nights are long —
In Winter lives the mystery of the Cross.