today the warmth returned
and the blond-haired boys were
running wild through beds
of brittle hydrangea
and barren rose canes
when the littlest
still unsteady on his feet
caught his teddybear bib on a thorn

a life incredible, vivid, excellent.
today the warmth returned
and the blond-haired boys were
running wild through beds
of brittle hydrangea
and barren rose canes
when the littlest
still unsteady on his feet
caught his teddybear bib on a thorn
we’ve had a cold snap again
frost nipping the eager blooms
of the japanese magnolias
and kissing the bricks
that weight the blanket
stretched over the half-moon bed
of drowsing flowers
yesterday morning the newly-fallen flakes
lay large and lacy atop the earlier shroud of snow
when i woke the snow
was once more falling
what once was whole has now been riven
and the guilty soul bows to be shriven
is there such a thing as “the ugly truth”
or is truth, no matter how hard —
no matter how painful —
no matter how hard we wish it were not so —
look, light has broken
on the darkened world
vanished is the lonely night —
eternity dawns
Jehovah, how can
One so great become so small?
Yahweh, a baby?
poor, his bed is not
even his to claim
at least in human reck’ning
could this be the one
ev’ry soul longs for?
what fills the spaces in between?
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