Wednesday, August 26, 2015

Peggy Freydberg


It takes courage to see beauty
in a world spread deep and silent
with interminable whiteness;
and to keep on being awed
by such uncommon splendor
while trying to suppress
a fundamental fear
of being buried by it.
But know it as it is:
Beauty is everlasting.
And winter's burial is not.
Underneath cold winter bone,
the flesh of summer sleeps.

A year before Peggy Freydberg died
her poems were first published.
She was 106.
She wrote about aging through the prism
of her life on The Vineyard.
Her work is remarkable.

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