LAST SLOPE Winterlust crinkled along the forest trails, Camp robbers nuzzled close For evening’s warmth. Lte rays leaned here and there On pine-edged crests Where tiny springs’ drops Had run nervously From white-tressed needles. Soon my love would stir from sleep, Sigh and sing again. The cold challenge would fade away Under soft caress Of burdgeoning winds – My dreams will change anew
The Most Rev. George T. Boileau, S. J. February 22, 1965 Seattle, Washington