A Winter Hoard Poem by Imogene Wagner

Where eyes can swiftly trace and pass delight
To mind and soul, I place the spiraled shell
And listen to it when I need the swell
Of sea to sate a winter appetite.
Where fingers can caress with questing touch
I align the acorns' dark brown beauty
And palm them sometimes listening to how much
They can tell of God and growth and duty,

Where mirror can reflect the sprucy cone
The pine's fruit rests and smells the dearly rare
Of giant forests with great firs, moss grown,
Of misky toad stools and the sweet cool air,
Much like the greedy miser with his gold
I touch my treasures shiningly and sing,
Much like the Squirrel nesting safe from cold
I sit within this room and feed 'til spring.

(December 1948)