Icy despair grips the landscape

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