NEW ANGLES

I can tell by the colored ribbons

wrapping the the dawn’s rise

that the angle of the sun

has shifted its gift of light,

along the path Winter runs

to the path where Spring abides.

Ice is breaking apart on the river

and in hearts confined

by viral fears 

and foes

who refuse to wear masks

and silently shout

“let the weak die”

as their cold hearts

steal too many lives.

Hope in Spring who opens wide

new angles for the sun

to light brighter paths

and easier days

pushing away 

such silent thoughts.