February 1, 2023
The freezing rain, the sleet, the cold,
The icy shards, the crunching sound,
My bones I know are getting old.
They also crunch, not just the ground.
I hear that old familiar call,
Each time I leave, walk out the door,
“Be careful dear that you don’t fall.”
Those loving words I’ll not ignore.
Some folks equate this final stage,
To winter months, leaves wither, die.
I’m blessed to reach this ripe old age.
It’s not for me to question why.
Perhaps there’s work remaining still.
God keeps me warm through winter’s chill.