Thoughts in December

 

It’s funny: although the December wind shakes 

the windowframe and seeps in and the snow

is monotonous as always and I have been alone

all my life;

although the music is no longer as comforting

as it once was and the ignorant child is building

his snowman below the window where I have sat

all my life;

although I can see his mittens flecked with cold

white flakes of hope and I do not envy his youth

for youth is the prelude to a sadness that has lasted

all my life;

although the wind rattles the windowframe;—

I am resigned and content, as I have been

all my life.

NOTES OF AN UNDERGROUND HUMANIST

© 2014-2019 by Chris Wright