Ice puddles like lily pads

an archipelago of creeping freeze,

stepping stones of tears perhaps

shed by autumns grieving trees...

 

then captured in the frozen glare

of sunlight’s first defiant rays,

they'll fade as if were never there

to herald in such hopeful days.

 

So many things unseen by men

the simple and the subtle change,

that slip through time like ink through pen

rewritten on an unturned page...

 

like bridges built between the wars

that yield to fear and promised gain,

all reaching out, their hope ignored

when war in season comes again.

 

Audio & Video available at links below

https://wolfgarwords.com/2024/11/20/war-in-season/