Where Cold Winds Blow

I’m an errant piece of abandened scrap paper;
a breeze; taking me; where I must go;
constantly in search of the Master’s favor;
destined to go; where cold winds blow.

I’m a torn out page, from the book of life;
blown, by winds; in search of a friend;
cold winds; penetrate my soul, like a knife;
wondering when life’s trials will end.

The winds carry me above lushes farmland;
adjoined by a picturesque frozen lake;
all its magnificence; by the Master, planned;
too perfect to be a mistake.

I knew I was gazing on the Master’s perfection;
covered by the veil of a mist;
I, a prodigal, who had joined in his rejection;
feeling, by God’s love; I’d been kissed.

Everything seemed too perfect for reality;
I knew it couldn’t be all it seems;
it was an angel’s light; reaching out for me;
a vision, only captured in dreams.

Perfection seemed so near; and yet, so far;
it became a wonderland of snow;
many thoughts, in a dream, can be bizarre;
especially, where cold winds blow.

I felt awakended; tho I didn’t really sleep;
thinking I heard sound of an angel’s voice:
“My child, you still have promises to keep;
you may only return, by the Master’s choice.”

Monty 7/3/24. # 2,197