The brown tipped grass peeked through the snow -
With stems quite cold and forlorn.
The north gale came and so winds did blow
and nodded their heads in form.
As I stood there, wondering “Who am I”
and what should I tell you about myself
an angel touched my shoulder and said
“Excuse me sir,
If Heaven's path were made for one
and ne're a choice but to walk alone
then I wonder what should become
of my absence in God's lovely home…
Story book dreams, feathered seams,
glory finds comfort by two’s;
Zeros and ones, petticoat suns,
the best of life to lose……
The blackened burl of charred remains -
stands the gnarl of great walnut tree.
Stretching his arms into the blue -
as though his very life to plead.