FALLING SNOW

See how they fall
An infinity of heavenly aspirations
Come to convert the world
With a deep and even purity.
Sent to nullify and cleanse
To enhance and beautify
To muffle and calm
With the tranquillity
Of a gossamer eiderdown.
To cloak in a mystery
Of endless variations
Of the same tonal theme;
Converting everything
To a glistening coalescence.
Tidying up the farmyard
Smoothing out the fields
Transmogrifying neglected gardens
Into dazzling showpieces,
Cluttered garden sheds
Into sparkling summer-houses,
Making abandoned bean sticks
As elegant as sculptured crystal,
And fondant death-traps
Of old familiar ponds
Enhancing the weary timothy
In the sad neglected churchyard.
Cheering up the stories
On the long forgotten grave stones.
Turning distant spires
Into alabaster space rockets
And drooping telephone lines
Into crystal mooring ropes
For ocean going bungalows.
The purification is complete, unblemished,
Save for the prints of wandering spirits
Fading in the gentle cascade.

THE PROMISES

I will never forget that morning,
A cold inconsequential day,
Before the pale reluctant sun
Had peered across the frosted land.
The weary early morning rise
Another day of pointless toil
Another journey, another time
Bearing the burden on my back
Until the calm of blessed evening.
For then the time had come to rest,
Close by an inn known to my master.
A place of noise and open arms
And he led safely to the parlour
And me led roughly to a shed.

No other thought was in my mind
But food and drink and time to sleep.
I made no note of fellow travellers,
I gave no heed to smells or sounds,
Contented in the warmth and shelter.
A time to rest a time to breathe.
But soon the gloom around me faded
To show a soft and gentle light
And two road weary fellow travellers,
One with a baby in her arms.
A father and adoring mother
Afraid, bewildered and amazed.
And such a child beyond my knowledge
With gentle eyes that knew my mind,
Describing worlds of endless wisdom
In ways I did not understand,
Save for a wonderful prediction
That etched itself upon my heart.

But then the sound of other travellers,
Muffled voices at the door,
Took away my precious moment
Returned me to my pleasant stall,
To rest before the coming morrow
Another harsh and dreary day.

But I held close that precious memory
Until the sweet and palm strewn day
When he fulfilled his holy promise.
That someday we would meet again.