Soft The Mind’s Eye

I’m watching the snow fall,

winter’s first day, midwestern ritual,

we dress for this,

we pray it might blanket the dead.

The thought of fear and trepidation,

a far and away distant memory when lost

in the beauty of a fresh freeze,

playing in the cool morning breeze.

I wonder about the shelter of some,

in this season of giving, murdered by the take

of a society ruthless in their loss of compass –

that measure of humanity we seemed blessed

as a child suddenly lost in the mire of want.

We might take a moment and breathe together

realize this is the same as last year, and will fall

in similar manner to symbolize the beauty of loss,

our departure from knowing life beyond Nature.

We cannot control the weather, no matter the vice

to hide our hearts from the reality of our own advice.

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