George Freek is from Belvidere, Illinois. He started writing many years ago, initially with short stories, but not very successfully he admits. He moved on to plays, which he still does and has had many produced and performed. He has been writing poetry all along which has proved to be very satisfying and brought him pleasure seeing his efforts in print. His poetry has appeared in numerous journals and reviews and nominated for a Pushcart Prize.
WINTER AND THE FROZEN RIVER
As the moon climbs the sky,
the aroma of apple blossoms
fills my mind,
but as snow falls,
and sparrows huddle
like homeless children,
spring is months away.
The stars look down.
They feel neither discomfort,
nor sympathy.
The laws nature dictates
are the rules of a penitentiary.
The friends of my youth,
I now rarely see.
Such is human nature.
The end of our life
is often bitter.
Yes, the river still flows,
but it turns to ice in the winter.