There is a sadness that feels cold,
And forgets that light is not dead
When hurt and regret are thus wed
In the human problem of old.
Grey shadows stretch across his path,
The sun from the horizon beams,
Hues of red upon the world gleams,
The town falls in a scarlet bath.
He stops to see a world baptized.
It is a bright transforming light
With the source just out of his sight.
It was a gift he highly prized.
He stood still, consoled and chastised.
The alpenglow was not the sun,
But where light is, darkness hasn’t won.
Rosy light is the sun disguised.
The wearied walker went his way,
Wound up in the wonder of this
Work of nature. Awake to bliss,
Eager for the sun of the day.
Poem and photo taken from the 2017 edition of Artos, the literary journal of Bethlehem College & Seminary students. Photo: Dawn’s Teardrops by Julia Ruamthong, college student.