Staring out the window at the naked bones of trees,
I see the dirty snow in patches, and ice-sickles on the eaves.
Winter time is looming, with its cold and dark and gray,
While the night is growing longer, and shortens every day.
In this season of the twilight, when the world is cold and dark,
Comes the era of contemplation, reviewing the subtle and the stark.
Past the Feast of Thanksgiving, not yet the Festival of Light,
Lies the time of turmoil- the inter-holiday blight.
Amidst the hustle and the bustle, I find that in my heart,
I need to view in circumspection, whether I’ve done my part,
To improve the life of others, and whether it’ll be found,
That I’ve made the whole world better, before they lay me in the ground.
When I measure myself against my ideals, I find I’m always lacking,
But I’ve set my course for a brighter land, and by the stars I’m tracking.
In the irony of reflection with forever-moments, as time flies,
Though born but a poor boy on a farm, as a man Noblesse Oblige-
Not better than any others, just blessed beyond any possible measure,
A life well-lived unto itself has been immeasurable treasure.
As years and lives all must end, my heart still must sing,
For the cycle holds and later comes the flowering rebirth of Spring.