I kneel deep in preparation.
Still untouched by
the whirlwind’s force.
But my swaying,
still stirs up hope.
As the blue moon
above watches over me.
All around the paper-
like colorless sky,
says nothing worldly.
But hangs in grief
with dropping heads.
Winter is coming, always
bitter and one-sided.
And everybody is so
far from knowing.
A Wandering Poet 