Walls of wind batter the house
Its that time oclock
Bullet rain keep all inside:
willing prisoners.
And all one can feel is cold
with a sense of not really taking part in life
just a waiting for better days,
everyone and everything your teacher;
you a pupil who knows nothing and
needs to learn a lot.
The Evergreens, how do they do it?
some special chemistry the alchemy
of which is beyond thinking about
and reasons? who knows.
Until you bring God into the equation all is futile
And means nothing and then
one has to admit one knows even less.
Good enough or should enough  are not valid questions
And no answers are forthcoming.
All is dead or dying except the Evergreens
who welcome the wind and bullet rain
as their brothers and sisters.