A Distant Harvest

The snow crunches beneath my feet.

Each cold step can’t be repeated

Even if I say a do over is needed.

God says control is his to keep

And asks that I take the famed leap.

That in this snowy, shadowy scape

A semblance of hope will take shape.

And this dreary haze of the unknown

Will sprout into future, fully grown. 

This poem is about: 
Me
My community
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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