The freeze has brought them to a winters' night
they've made themselves, forgetting what is right,
and they can see their children cry
but not a one will reason why,
nor think upon enough to see the light.
There's no repent for killing as it's done
and no resistance to it going on,
just hate on hate that only grows,
the hint of peace that never shows,
with lots of blame, enough for everyone.
And to this chaos, we have paved the way
for men of opportunity to play
and build their fortunes from it all
while winter makes its frigid call,
and brings another dark and longest day.
The heros are not known, til dies are cast
til all has slipped away into the past,
and truth is what a baby hears
but laid to rest in later years,
and right is not defined until the last.
© ron wilson the Doylestown Poet