This Shakespearean sonnet explores the crucible of faith as an end in the reign of a spiritual Winter within our human lives, and raises a challenge for those who have the will and the wherewithal to make the choice for faith before the slow train of life comes off the rails. 

(Spoiler alert:  You may hear the echoes of one of my influences, a favourite poet—Bob Dylan—towards the end of the sonnet.)

In Winter rain, I hear Faith call my name.
Autumn leaves age, well-read reeds, on my trek.
January extols our new year’s fame,
pretending not to see our will-train wreck
preening for its close-up from a distance,
until lack of discernment is discerned,
as passengers strategize their entrance,
and Faith, small virtue, is yet again spurned.
But who’s to say the will-train will derail?
What say we all heed Faith’s tolling roll call?
Will the slow train coming—beyond the pale,
like a hard rain, or unheeded hail—fall
on deaf ears?  Listen.  Faith’s small voice speaks still:
He calls.  Your choice to stall will kill your will.