Wisdom, at once held high and rarely found,
is now "found" in snow scattered forms.
These ember months cast frost ground
images of philosophy, while so often does the air transform,
and time tucks beneath a place pretending to be warm.
And through the window glass are seas of kingly deed -
of judgments justified by sovereign overrule.
Is such the way of thanking God for this white-seed
after reap. At last, before a burning yule
we pontificate on the wisely right, and the rightly fool.