In winter, as the freezing mist
floats friendless ‘cross the frozen field,
I lay down lonely and unkissed,
and to my dread depression yield.
The shrouded, silent, silver sun
stands still, or so it seems to me.
And in my mind I dare to run
away from God’s eternity.
By noon, when dreary darkness falls,
I hear a soulful singing bird.
From tree to tree the creature calls.
He hopes, by one, he will be heard.
At dusk, when all sweet dreams expire,
my empty, aching heart grows cold.
And thoughts, once fed with summer\'s fire,
turn grey that season’s gleaming gold.