Poem April 26, 2004 Issue

Snow dawn

Al Gemrich

Tucked to bed, and snuggled down with holy hope,
The farm in darkness sleeps, to dream the coming of the snow,
Which, obliging, as if in answer to a prayer,
Throughout the night falls floating in celestial silence,
The accumulated mercy of so many feathery blessings down,
Until the grace of Heaven's vast transforming crown
Rests lightly as a comforter upon the eager soul of that receptive ground.
In the morning the farm, humble host in hush of purity,
Wakes like a child to behold the sparkling dawn and find
Old things have passed away. A world made new.
The imprints of all yesterdays are gone, no longer true.
White-robed earth is wearing sky, together they in freedom raise
Anthems the color of innocence, the garments of praise.
The valley exalted, the land grown soft and round.
Woods and waters whispering peace in white oneness bound.
The happy day's precious, glistening gift—a fresh start, a clean slate
For recording the deeds of snow angels everywhere.
But this redemption is small-mirrored miracle of the noon that is to come,
When all creation sings in splendid fullness the brilliance of the risen Sun.

—Al Gemrich

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