A winter's morn

Snow-crested drifts cross the wooded yard
In the howling barren of a winter's morn,
Peak upon peak of flurries formerly fallen
Have gathered here and now calmly wait.
For what, O frosty friends, do you pause?
Why so still in these moments of silence?

A wooden bench fenced in by winter's blanket
Creeks and croons as gently it sways
Only so slightly in a breeze this faint,
Teasing, tickling the pines and winter berries.
For what, O timbered ones, do you watch?
Why so wistful, in the way of whom?

The sunlight gayly glimmers on glassy snow,
Guiding eyes heavenward but to cast them
Down, left, and right, as this looking 
Cannot withstand something e'er so bright.
For what, O star, do you summon my gaze?
Why so warm in this blinding bliss?

Christmastide comes quickly at midnight meek,
When through our heart again comes light
Newborn of light, held out in darkness holy:
A king, a child, a savior, a slave.
For what, O boy, do you ask of me?
Why so humble in the presence of yourself?

Save we now our traces of contrast

As by chamomile and candlelit warmth
We stare at bleak forests, blasted with ice,
Through winter's window, the chill's not so cold.
For what, O dream, do we now feel?
Why so unknown in this birth of the new?