Do you, Sister Stone,
 
know how long you can withstand
 
the north wind’s pounding?

 
 
 

To usher in spring,
 
will you be a lamb, March wind,
 
or roaring lion?

 
 
 

A door swings open.
 
A man and woman walk out.
 
The north wind sweeps in.

 
 
 

While the north wind blows,
 
an old man without a coat
 
shuffles through the park.

 
 
 

Although I am old,
 
the river is much older—
 
sing this song, north wind!

 
 
 

Pilgrim on the way,
 
ponder how your path would change
 
if no north wind blew.

 
 
 

Though the north wind blows
 
and you cannot see the path,
 
your feet know the way.

 
 
 

Listen! the north wind
 
keeps banging on my front door,
 
but can’t pick the lock.

 
 
 

On a bookstore shelf
 
I find a winter poem
 
scribbled in the dust.

 
 
 

Is it wind I hear,
 
or autumn’s bony fingers
 
clawing at my door?