Life that ended in remorse
The wind was harsh,
that ground was cold,
But in the deep old heart,
the warmth was bold.
The trees were gray,
the sky was black,
looking around saw,
what was left back.
A wrecked hut,
a wrecked boot,
all in ashes,
black with soot,
all pockets filled
with empty air
no crooked coin
for him to bear.
His shagged beard,
his ragged clothes,
torn and frozen,
all like his oaths.
His hunch-backed spine,
leaned on his staff,
his dead-toned eyes,
starred the dead-black mass,
The rain of snow,
his silent tears,
the howling wind,
howl of his fears.
He'd had such dreams,
Such dreams he had,
But in what he'd got,
ought he not be glad?
His oath's were made,
completed not,
for in his own mind,
he was a prisoner caught.
The night was dark,
as dark could be,
through a jumble of thoughts,
he could not see.
Trudged he through the mass of trees
deep in the snow his knobbly knees.
Then glid down a golden ray of sun,
It seemed to be calling him to heaven.
And then through the white,
a whiter still,
bird, flew to the fate
of his destiny.
And the pine trees shook their leaves and cones,
whispering the air some melodious tones.
But even in such beauty and life,
Joy, was but a hardened strife.
And he thought what life was to him,
a log of wood which he had to trim.
And as he lay in the snow so cold,
And his death lay at the bay,
He thought how wasted was his life.
And what a blessing had been the long,long way