Sixth Street during the First Snowfall

The snow fell gently in the yard.

The cold fell fast upon my heart.

I could not cry. The snowflakes

Falling on my face

Melted – trickled down my skin

As tears for past mistakes.

The snow did not conceal my sins.

It did not hide my soul, my heart

Or my imagination,

But as the tears fell from my face

Through time and space

I was a new creation.

They froze and when they hit

The still-bare pavement, lit

By streetlamps, or by God’s own light,

They shattered.

(The shepherd taken in the night –

The sheep are scattered)

I stood in bitter, frozen air

Which flew around me, through my hair,

And sent

A piece of ice which rent

The veil that kept me

From my truer self.

The snow upon the tower and roof

Impelled me to discover proof

That he sends rain upon the just

And sinners too he treats the same.

I heard the preacher call my name

And offer me a crust

Of bread.

I looked into the falling snow –

My voice was resolute and low –

And sang into the winter wind,

“O night divine, what might have been

May yet still be!”

The wind blew harshly over me

And drew from me a silent tear

That spoke of hope but whispered fear,

For those he calls he justifies

But those he loves he crucifies.