if day has to become night

Sonnet I

The snow drifts down, wearily to the earth,
and bitter winds blow, stealing life by touch,
as I look for my home, my wondrous warm berth,
a train bound west, my belongings I clutch.
But here in this place full, frozen and dead,
I see life pass and continue forward,
here lies true strength, in this cold winter's bed,
searching for hope, and moving there toward.
Ever on, ever on, trudge these lives, tired,
until they come to their rest in the dirt,
in mortality, they're no longer mired,
floating in heaven, at peace and unhurt.
I wish to be with them, though time is not right.
So westward I go, from this: winter's night.