to ride off from the cold sun of winter’s promise.
Is it cold that slows the squirrel’s journey up
or their strife of yesterday’s feast of stowed summers.
The nip of hope, and the sting from the unknown,
stand as cold air in a windless day of frozen temperatures.
Yet, the move of the hours will re-ignite the heavenly stars
biding rest to the weary feeling full of the day’s survival.
Copyrighted: CMM 2009