Emperors (Poetry)

Like standing stones that catch the sun's first rays,
slanting blue-grey shadows on loose snow,
the Emperors hunch, their backs against the wind,
resolute, and brood the eggs below.

Dwarfed by freezing landscapes carved from ice,
they sit it out, endure the worst extremes -
everything Antarctica can throw -
enigmatic in their winter dreams.

What trick can numb them to the blizzard's bite -
do penguins have a ploy to see them through
the bleakest days, those weeks of crushing cold
suspending life and blanking out their view?

What faith sustains them, gives them inner strength,
unflinching when the wind's chill factor cuts
right to the marrow, deadening all nerves -
what straw remains for frozen feet to clutch?

But steadfast, they outlast the season's squall
and do their duty nobly without fuss,
guardians of a harsh, unchanging lore,
anticipating thaw's life-giving thrust.

And with the melt the colony shakes off
its dark enchantment, sheds its brittle caul
and shuffles through a world dissolved in light -
the shell has cracked and Spring releases all.