The Seventh Storm of Winter

Dearly beloved, we are gathered here

to bless the falling snow.

Let it bury us and all our cares and pains and bury

every one of our wishes and preoccupations, especially

the ones we think are most important.

Let it, which neither scorns nor loves, but falls

on all our lives with the same indifferent silence,

inter our pasts and bury every one of our dreams as well.

We pray you, blessed snow, to leave bare spots

beneath the apple trees for winter birds to peck for

seeds, but otherwise, please blanket our incessant

chatter beneath the frigid benediction of your

whiteness so we can pull up the covers of our beds

and burrow even deeper into sleep like hibernating bats

and bears and not emerge until the ides of March

and maybe not until the ides of May.

© 2012 J.M. Keating

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