A Call in the Distance ( a poem of Hope)
A sea of whiteness, on an open country field,
Looms in the distance, without perspective,
Black birds...all crows calling, waiting for a reply,
Patiently pausing, as to be their only objective.
Gnarled trees, erected pointedly. on the alba horizon,
Their grotesqueness revealed, as if sculptured.
The bluing sky light spreads widely and afar,
A saving grace for the blandness, well captured.
An eager sun, peering over the blue-white maze,
Greets the morning's gloom, with earned affection.
While a brown deer struggles in steps, determined,
Seeking the warmth amid foliage, its fond protection.
My breath, the only companion on this quiet frosty morn,
Beats a path before me, as if preordained, to guide,
A stinging assistant, incessant, the wind, this day to scorn,
Persists, relates to the chill, wearing whites, as its bride.
A hearty "Hallo"...It's my neighbor, a hermit moon, of the ages,
Coming forth from seclusion, in hibernation, its light engages.
A flickering wave of my dark gloved hands and then a farewell,
While I return to my world, as if in some imagined Wintery spell.
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