Air was so still.
The smoke made a halo
around his empty brow.
It was so very cold.

The rain begins
like washing dirty sin,
forgetting where you’ve been,
you’d like to start again.

Now close your eyes.
Sleep is the only cure.
You’ll never be so pure.
You’ll always want for more.

Then light snow starts.
We bend and break our hearts
into a thousand parts
despite our magic arts.

Come ancient tale,
child, mother, and her travail,
angels and stars’ bright trail.
Spill the wine; rip the veil.

Syd Weedon
12/1/2024