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.