Winter Visitation (revised)
Snow seen through a frost-framed window,
ghostly white forms and shrouds
take shape in swirling air and buried land.
As snow descends from burdened clouds,
I see a Story plain before me…
Let it snow, the Snowman said
to his wife and children of snow.
Our hearts are cold, emotions frozen,
even together, uncaring, alone.
We are as ghosts of haunted castles-
abandoned loneliness of ice and stone.
We haunted ourselves with fears of lack,
as in a past long dead and gone.
Frugal with kindness, we gave so little
to ourselves, and to others- even less…
None mourned our indifferent passing,
our lives were blessings to none
except as sad Wisdom’s warnings-
false deceptions, words as weapons,
our livelihoods, our affluence, as gain
through indifference to others’ pain-
hearts and minds and feelings frozen
in intentional actions clearly chosen-
actions so many others knew too-
their blame and shame pleasure in harm-
weapons planned and calculated
forming many a virulent storm.
We killed and buried Conscience,
Rationality and Compassion.
Peace and Good Will, too, were
buried deep below frozen ground.
We fashioned more and more weapons
smarter, deadlier, colder still,
everywhere all around
in water and sky and ground.
This, our Winter Visitation
is the Future of Generations
unless you turn it around
for all you hold most dear.
This is the Story I read-
a sad Story plain and clear.
Let it snow, the Snowman said
to his wife and children of snow.
Let it snow. Let it snow. Let it snow.
February 17, 2008
revised December 30, 2021
Shelley Wilson
Flowerpoet 