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
The coolness gnawing at his pale skin,
But the sun was warm and calm
With his sword unsheathed
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.