Winter Sun

One stream of my poetry is in the area of social concerns. Although the season in the northern hemisphere is late spring, almost summer, it feels to me that on a spiritual level in the world we are in winter. Today I felt a call to share this poem written many years ago during winter. It is the title poem of a small collection of poetry that I hope to re-issue soon.

 Winter Sun
 A poet on the gallows
 Terror in the air
 Cruelty in high places
 No one seems to care.
 Many hearts are broken
 There are cries of fear and hate
 Many words are spoken
 By the lowly and the great.
 Yet the winter sun is rising
 I feel its warmth upon my face
 My own heart still is weeping
 But I feel a hint of inner peace.
 There is a strange sense of order
 That I cannot understand
 A feeling of change and movement
 And a plan beyond my ken. 

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