A Winter's Storm in Springtime harkens ill.
It beats a march onto the roof this night.
The rhythm burdens hearts worn hard by plight
Makes raw the soul that bleeds as cisterns fill.
Too many times the road called out to him
To go, to visit, travel one more time.
But always task at hand delayed the ride
And now he sits alone, late, at this Inn.
As every drop slides off the gable's well
And more, so many more will follow down
His spirit, empty, cold, no comfort found
Denies all hope will ever in him dwell.
His journey never made cost him his life.
Delay made her, his heart, another's wife.
(c) 2006 G.Robin Smith, all rights reserved