Lone Sentinel

We know the hour’s growing late

Yet many songs remain unsung.

Now is not the time to hate

Too many bells remain unrung.

Outside, that world is growing dim

Darkness builds in gathering night,

Frigid wailing beyond the rim

Of this tiny candle’s light.

This little pool to which we cling,

This spot of warmth against the chill,

Where we await the return of spring

With nothing but our faith and will.

We can’t defeat that howling cold

Without this flame which we behold.

Pressing Questions

Does America

Want a Gilded King of Queens?

What about that block,

Most used for smoothing splinters?

 Does the White House need

Additional landscaping?

Maybe something soft,

A home for wayward bunnies?

Does the nation need

To writhe and dance in fire?

How about that guy,

The crusty, crummy, cracker?

Do we really need

Arachnine machinations?

Or some random guy

Unlike that old apostle?

Does diplomacy

Need stronger thrusts or parries?

Why not watch reruns

Of old Huckleberry Hound?

Should seeking wisdom

Require neurosurgeons? 

Maybe consider

That fossilized time bider?

Well, why not, she has 

The mountain named already?

D.C.’s nuts enough,

Why add sanatorium?

Ignore the other

Dozen clowns and charlatans.

With all these questions,

One thing’s crystal clear to me,

The coming year will be crazy!