White Is Black Again


Soon upon us,
A season’s often-quixotic mood
Will lower its horns,
Hoof the hardened soil
And roil its frozen perspiration
Into razor wire fury.

Dumped from frigid billows,
Its penetrating storm
Will thrash the protected
And exposed alike.

How random its wrath,
Perplexing life any and all ,
Two legged,
Four legged ,
Clinging leaf of branch
To trickling brook,
To placid lake,
All contract their senses.

The coldness,
The heaviness,
The shrouding white of icy calm,
The long sleep to come,
Is winter’s embrace.

Many would say…

How beautiful purity’s blanket,
Made for snowballs,
Snowmen,
And covered roofs,
Awaiting St. Nick.

Accepted by all except…

The forgotten,
The homeless caught needing
A shelter to comfort them,
A meal to satiate them,
Loving consciousness to console them.

Remember them.

For lest we forget.
White is black for many.