Written by John Piper, a poem for a year where I feel the seasons passing me by.

‘Swimming in Winter’

It is vacation time, and we
must play.
No, this is not a must. We will,
we may!

It is the season for this play,
this fun,
And season follows season, when
it’s done.

A time to fast. Then time to feast
with spice.
Spring flowers follow winter snow
and ice.

Or is this sequence really so
precise?
Does life come like the roll of waves,
Or dice?

Does winter never flinch? Refuse
to go?
I’ve seen the tulips buried in
the snow.

Yet, it is time to play. The sun
appears.
So I will swim, and none will see
my tears.