On the onset of winter 

In the dark night of wither 

I saw the moon 

A smirk on her face 

‘Why do you smile so soon?’

I asked with a grimace 

‘Why is there a stain on your forehead?’

‘I smile behind my mask of grief ‘she said 

‘The blot on my forehead is to remind us that when we wound

A kindred human being, we bear a blemish on our face.’