This morning when I woke was grey
I thought the night had stolen day,
but no it was the snow that bore the light
so soon after Christmas night
when even stars were hidden
and clocks of white spun down
around our sleeping heads
making softest sounds
in hushed quiet mounds
no sudden flight of doves
but all the messages invisible
between the living things
made pure telepathy in winter's ear
an atmosphere resembling the devout,
as we looked out

Margaret Ann Waddicor