He stood resolutely,

In the winter cold.

The sun climbed behind him,

Glowing bright and bold.

 

The wind kicked up twigs and leaves

Long dead of chill,

His coat tails flickered up and down,

His thick hair freezing into icy strands

 

Lips blue,

Fingers numb,

The coolness gnawing at his pale skin,

But the sun was warm and calm

 

With his sword unsheathed

He turned,

To face the sun so many feared.

And into its arms he ran.

 

So long he’d stood

With many others, alone.

But he would turn to face it,

As so many were still left to choose

 

He ran; the moist air,

Tasting now of piercing mint

The sun reflecting off his silver blade,

He held his weapon high.

 

His knees beneath the snow, so long,

Circulating once again

His frost encrusted shoes,

Finally doing some good to warm his feet.

 

Many had turned long ago,

And many would turn far ahead

But today he had no fear,

To face the sun, no longer dead.