The End (draft one)

Bent against the wind
A man walks through a storm
Clouds whip overhead
And rain lashes out

Into his garments
Which are slick with cold
And shine with his form
As he walks, and walks

Through an empty land
The sound of his feet
On pebbles, on stones, on dirt
He moves through the countryside

In occasional flashes
The arms of trees raise
Barren to a pale sky
And explosions of thunder

Shiver them

Hills ahead, and deep canyons
The rushing of rivers
Narrow high passes
Caverns, meadows, deep forests, plains

Even empty and barren tracts

See him in a blazing sun, under some shadow?

And see Yourself, seeing him
And see yourself arranging the home
Which lies at the end of the road
See yourself cooking, and building a fire
And putting fresh linens

On the bed you intend to share with Him.