The winter season returns again,
Hours of solitude to weigh my life.
Its accusing wind cuts straight to the heart
More precisely than a surgeon's knife.
Were my deeds of this year past
Truly selfless and without blame?
Or were they only kindling scraps
To feed the hearth of my ego's flame?
I rummage through the snapshots in my mind
Looking for things of my Lord's desire.
Will I find warmth in His approving smile?
Is there any wood for that fire?