A poem for a frigid spring

My son, Kyle Kreider, wrote this poem after he came from Chicago to stay with me in early April, after self-quarantining for 14 days due to COVID-19. We thought it was appropriate to publish this locally now, given the arctic cold and supposed spring/loon season.

The Mountain Calls

The Mountain calls so I must go

To the place of Nordic snow

With Moon touched lakes that frost and freeze

And a winter wind that creaks the knees.

Orion peers from up on high

As winter seems to never die.

But hark and hope, for spring is coming

Soon birds fly, often humming.

Lend an ear to hear the mail of Viking men

That crossed the vale.

And listen closer for the wail of a loon

Dreamed in a northern tale.

Gutted mines of iron ore

Built this house up from the floor

And here it sits as etched in stone

The only home you’ve ever known.

The mountain calls so I must go

When I’ll return, I cannot know.

But do not fear, for hearts remain

As city lights shall have no reign.

He is a ninth-grade mathematics teacher who also is attending graduate school toward a master’s degree in education. “The frozen lake, cold temperatures and sense of home I felt when I arrived here were inspirations for the poem,” Kyle Kreider said.


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