Submitted by Audrey Lopez
In the darkness of winter, the spark of new life.
I have news for you:
The stage bells,
winter snows,
Summer has gone,
Wind high and cold.
Sun low, short its course,
sea running high.
Rust brown bracken, its shape lost,
the wild goose raises her accustomed cry.
Cold seizes the birds wing:
Seasons of ice:
This is my news.
-Ninth century Irish poem