if we begin with any sense of how
the choices made arrived at final sense
with virtue and with vice we might dispense
and leave the field to neutral power now
the wind that blows the last snow from the bough
reveals the paint is peeling from the fence
the trees behind us here seem not so dense
and windy voices make some kind of vow
rumours abound regarding how we fight
against the powers that set the laws in place
but not for those who cannot will the calm
we're here in deepest coldest winter night
those are not roses we see on each face
still only one of us may bear the palm
16 January 2008
if we begin
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