Snow Storm

The world is cold, white and dark
a soft blanket drapes over tree,
bush, and building
a small bird stops at the feeder
fluffed out to keep the warmth in

I may be blessed by a warm house
but my brother sleeps in an alley
cold, wet, hungry
my sister huddles in a doorway
wrapped in a worn blanket

We are not so different
my sister, my brother and me
except by circumstance If things were just a little different
I would be alongside them, sharing our warmth

Who ordains who is blessed and who is not
why do we,  . . . my sister, my brother . . .
walk such different paths
what choices made by us, God, or others
led to this place in our lives

Some say God punishes
I say we choose how we live
I thank others sometimes make our choices for us
I believe God cry’s every time someone
huddles in a doorway

©Ruth Jewell, January 18, 2012