And in the wicked winter wind

The darkness whispered wildly;

Tossing her dark hands cross the brows

Of those who gathered mildly.

Meekly they gathered on the moor;

Exhausted in the morning dim.

And tho the sky grew grayer still

They stayed waiting with their kin.

And mistress darkness gathered force

Pushed her weight against the men.

Some bent double to escape the grip

Her icy fingers down their collar sent.

The line of men stood firm and fast,

Not an inch given to the blowing wind.

They stood to pay respect to one

Who had escaped the winter din.

-BH