Cold winter morningÂ
grass spiked with frost
and the sky is a white blanket.
For twenty-four hours now
my eyes have sprung hot tears
at the thought of childrenÂ
who go without.
Sleeping, my dreams bring
small lost children clinging
to me in a crazy landscape
of riches and abundance.
To what do I owe this visitation
and where do I take it?
Sun breaks through that white cover
as if to signal an epiphanyÂ
but I am either too simple
or not simple enough
to grasp it.
