so long a journey

when the moon is a thin fingernail in sky
night seems a darker denser space of time
the cold with more intensity seems to rime
windows and leaves and calling us to die
the walker in this night's furtive as a spy
the street seems into deeper dark to climb
the ice forms on the puddles a thin slime
that any hope's at road's end seems a lie
the waiting's harder on such a dark night
illumination's but an illusory sign of hope
at the walk's end the shelter will be rough
no chance that at the coming of the light
we'll be well up the long and tiring slope
at least in day the path will seem less tough