That day in the shriek of
slicing and bitter cold
we watched a man in
jungle greens build a
tropical shelter. The
irony was not lost
when frozen guy ropes
would not untangle.
You will not have to
contend with this, he
said generously, his
eyes squinted in
sunlight reflected
a billion times from
frozen leaves and
blades of rudely
trampled grass.
But the sun, he
contended, will be
just the same.
© I.D. Carswell 1966
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