Amid The Winds Of December
They whisper in rustling sounds,
To one another,
As if they discern the secrets of
Mortality and immortality,
Finity and infinity,
Certainty and uncertainty;
But amid the winds of December,
Man stands all alone with murky thoughts,
On the bare rock of the world,
Indifferent, unconcerned to the change,
With ever increasing craze
And fear of future,
Heaping around Himself
The piles of wealth, the mounds of weapons.