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