Frozen Bits Poem by Barry Van Allen

Can't call it day,
can't say it's night,
on one hand it's not dark enough,
on the other, it's not light.

The only thing that can be said,
is there are deep gray shadows on the snow,
and it is cold out there,
... in January.

Even more, and maybe less,
it's deathly quiet,
like an overwhelming riot,
of too much silence.

Nothing spoken,
so much said,
... at Four O' clock,
... A.M.

The job has it's rewards,
those moments are the best,
like every job, I guess...

- - -you live with what is thrown your way,
and deal with the rest,
as you learn to love, and treasure,
- - - that modicum of pleasure.