Forecast Of First Snow Poem by Liberatore Suffoletta

Forty-nine sorrows under a single sail;
Wind and waves, crucifix in line of vision
Tiny sparrows now dash in morning mist
And the hidden hills run to keep up with them
All the color of the north, cold again to the skin

Arriving at this place; this autumn of the heart
getting past this place: this winter of old age
One starts to learn what hard traveling means.
The morning sun wraps itself in an orange blanket;
Lingering in darkness moment to moment
The steam from a tea kettle escapes
with one long sigh towards somewhere
where so many white tears are born
from endless scents of forgotten days.