The ponderous bleak
Of northern January, of late day
When morning’s gift of hope
Has burned away
With the ascending sun
When glacial winds infiltrate
Seams in bare walls
Fashioning a den of cold
Even the hardiest
Would endure not relish
And which the furnace strains to dent
Comes then the afternoon sun
In streams, thin and iridescent,
A welcome beacon
Searching for my soul
That lies frozen in shadows
A welcome light
That melts the hardness
Of my lonely heart
Poetry and Verse 