Derelict Poem by Janet Mary Zylstra

Since when has there been Sunshine on a deep mid-winter's day
When the heart and hands and feet are cold as death,
And the smiles of the loved ones are fading in the grave,
And the memories are faint as phantoms' breath?

Since when have roses blossomed 'neath the weight of Yuletide snow,
When the arms are self-hugged tight across the breast,
And the unforgetting eyes stare down into the soul,
And the twig-knurled thumbs keep turning without rest?

Since when has there been birdsong on the morn of Christmas Day
When the mewl of children's laughter hurts the pain,
And the shoulders and the spine are curled up beneath the grief,
And indifference drives the outcast nigh-insane?