Icy despair
Grips the landscape.
The once refreshing
White expanses
Are now dreary:
Endless uniformity,
All hint of texture
Or colour
Long buried
Under the glacial grasp.
Always winter
And never Christmas.
But then
Unheard as yet
By human ears
As soft
As a downy feather
The almost silent splash
Of tiniest melted snowflake.
We do not know it yet
But Aslan
Is on the move.
Poem by Jeannie Kendall, reproduced with permission
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