Now old in Snow, and
His shaky steps in springtime,
though summer dragged him on
still unsteady to the fall...
now old in snow, and thinking.
Recalling then when time was cheap,
when it did not matter, not a hoot,
if snow was piled up ten foot deep,
not caring what the seasons reap.
Now time has come to call, he thought,
to tell him what he knew was true;
it reminded what to him it brought,
the good, the great, and what was not.
If you have any comments on this poem, J. D. Heskin would be
pleased to hear from you.