From Heaven
A Poem
And o’er the world, a whiteness whispers soft
For God descends from Heav’n to touch the earth
A hush is held as cold as Christendom
And seraphim are singing in the snow.
No hapless mortal treads have hammered here,
No waking thought dost stray upon the ear.
The slumb’ring gods of winter wake at last
And show us all the shining of the past.
A straying sound is soonly bent and oft
A clump withers in softness to the dirt
And to the earth a Heav’nly coating comes—
The cherubim are singing of the snow.
Our God this world is cleansing all in light,
No bloom of blood may mar His perfect white.
I wasn’t planning to publish anything for a while, but then of course, snow. And then, of course, poem. And this one won’t lose me anything by baring it.
2.18.26