Cold Joy

Going through some old files, I stumbled on this little poem I wrote about wintertime. May it bless someone, as I share it below.

The continuation of the study on the Beatitudes with regard to humility, is forth coming. I just had a good friend pass away, placing unexpected demands upon my time, for now.

 

The following is my last tweet announcing the death of my friend, and my grief.

“I need strength as I mourn the passing of a close friend who sat in my class at church. It’s things left undone that bring the sharpest pain. Yet, one of my last conversations with Jeff was about the great value of our friendship—I’m thankful for that. Prayers appreciated.”

Cold Joy

The hoary head of Old Man Winter

O’re my shoulder rises

His old gray eyes, the silver skies

His body, crystal white ice prizes

Perfect cleansing proffers he

To all outside their houses

Defecting ones, from coffers free

They froze to death their louses

Tis but a frame of reference
Icicles from the eaves
To free the mind to deference
The inner man to please

For one sees winter’s dismal gray
He hangs his head and mopes
Another sees with beauty gaze
The splendor of new hopes

For every kernel corn to sprout
What it was before must die
A senseless bane, your winter pout
I love those old gray eyes!

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