cold winter
at a bend in the slow flowing river, i sit atop a log downed by old age or illness i assume as i praise the skies for no screaming chainsaws the gray, dark morning all is silent as fall the first snows quiet, calm suspended in time cold but not bitterly comfortable and dressed for warmth may just pass the day this way our first fall without you true winter is coming long and blustery nights the trees will creak and pop with the cold long ago now the time you would tuck us in
That is sublime.
A sweet, honorable son you are Sir!