As times fade to dust
my longing of green pastures,
lush fields,
and fruit on the vine
is hushed.
Ye Winter of crossroads
soon trace my course,
blocking journeys.
Appearing trustworthy...
you are faithless and ready to foil,
but my hope,
my desire,
my expectation...
is that I shall succeed,
where you have failed...
to move forward,
to journey
on promise
and faith unmuffled...
Hush...be still, ye old man...
Winter...shhhh...
