And the snow came down to a fog

A winter came to a valley
where a running stream and a railed
fence breathed in the darkness
Where a frost-footed hare slept in a
warren, and a farmer cursed and
ran towards a shelter
and a fire burning and a hard time;
All of this I remember- and the silken
flakes falling on the trees in the low sky
The very dead of cold, and the crow-skinned
birds beating the wing in the fog,
And the snow turned hard and bitter
And I was no longer at ease-
clutching my god as I knelt to the kingdom;
Then at dawn with both hands
opened my door, light trying to break
where there was no sun- wind gusting
and filing through my flesh;
The age of me wrinkling like the wax
on a candle, the flame burning
the seeds of my youth; all of this I
remember as the oil of my tears
dripped on my smile; my life was a journey
and such a tiring journey; and an
old white horse galloped across the valley
to find the place, it was in the soil.

Copyright © 10/13/2016 lance sheridan®


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