Knowing a strange kind of black rain,
one that imprisons you
from wind driving in all directions.
Came out of the cold: trembling,
and deeply worn out
crying oneself to sleep then falling.
Safe and warm, wrapped in blankets,
hibernating until crocuses poke
through thawing ground.
Until then safe in dreaming cocoon,
waiting in Love’s soft arms
for morning light after catharsis.
(c) Amanda Wilson 2012