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