Posted by Admin on 28 March 2008, 12:00 am
I think no more of winds that chill,
most icily, my pampered bones,
and thro’ the draughty casements spill
sub-zero air in half-warmed zones.
I stand enthralled, the snow-dunes set
new contours on a landscape lost;
I see, transformed, the hedgerows’ fret –
fantastic harmonies in frost.
And yonder stand, a silent psalm,
the tracery, less black than white,
of trees immobile in the calm,
against the mist and grey-pink light.
And absolute, though folk may plod,
quiescence reigns – a presence – God.
T. C. Hudson
© T. C. Hudson.
Village
Parish Council