A Distant Harvest
The snow crunches beneath my feet.
Each cold step can’t be repeated
Even if I say a do over is needed.
God says control is his to keep
And asks that I take the famed leap.
That in this snowy, shadowy scape
A semblance of hope will take shape.
And this dreary haze of the unknown
Will sprout into future, fully grown.
This poem is about:
Me
My community
Our world
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