The Winter-Weary Wanderer
(A Song of the Apocalypse)

Always sleeping, never dead,
The care-worn sun appears
All bent of back and bowed of head
And weighted by his years.

The people know how bored he gets:
His dome is streaked with grey;
The people ponder when he sets,
Will we see the light of day?

    And the winter-weary wanderer
    walks through the shades of grey
    while people live their little lives
    and dream from day to day.

And when the sun asserts his right
And from his work retires,
He sheds his warmth and shades his light,
Extinguishes his fires:

The people greet the morning there
And far off, hear their cries
Of deepest fear and dark despair
As they wait for him to rise.

    And the winter-weary wanderer
    walks through the endless night
    while all around the people pray
    and beg the sun for light.

- DBN

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