The sun casts its apricity against the bitter wind,
trying to convince us that it is our friend.
And though it cooks us in the summer, in winter, I admit,
when it warms us with its rays, I pray it will not quit.
Frozen in the wilderness, I resume my plea
that the rays of father Sol will manage to find me.
Once they desert their provenance, do those rays remember he
gave them clear direction to be sure to shine on me?
Prompt word are apricity (the warmth of the sun in winter, obsolete) cook, provenance, bitter, wilderness, resume.







