The mountain passes swept with snow
sing silently of sun’s swift rise,
and of moonsong in the night’s serenity,
lullaby of history’s longevity, come to a point,
here.
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Snowfall, heavy and soft—soft accumulation,
heavy resting over earth, buried silent, still,
under the blanket that blinds the eyes, so radiant,
yet in the night, so dark, so still.
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Snowmelt, trickling over muddy earth in spring’s sweetness,
melting multitudes of murky pathways
tracing their ways through the earth, to lake and stream,
streams that take their way downward as temperature rises,
and the bird’s song accompanies all, harbinger of coming dawn.
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Sun and moon, snow and water, earth and sky,
and the singing of the dove, bird of longing,
and the tittering of little birds, endless jubilation,
for with the coming of the spring comes Dayspring,
Christ, slumbering under earth, heavy and light,
arises as the everlasting Dawn, and life he brings.