Nipped did it
The frost on the sloe
Yes and sitting on the hill
With blackthorn around us
Eating our winter picnic
Looking down it truly was
Wonderful, undulating
Grassy meadows, varying
Forms near and far
Tracks and trails covered
By us and by others
The first advent Sunday came
A soft bell ringing
Gently piercing and peeking
Into our world.
Pain, happy pain of
Longing, surprised by joy
If only words could convey
Or at least elicit that long-lost feeling
But untamed lions
Come and go as they please.
I tune my hearing
To hear his steps and
Every sign of the times
Bending towards his will.
I pray my own steps
Those 26 steps
Will be well placed.
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