In the depths of Winter’s snowy haze
I have seen icicles spangle encrusted faces
Diamond like; and across the sheet-white places
Like a lost trumpet call,
As a sunbeam summons day;
I have lain beneath the bows of the apple-tree
Watched wasps on their busy way
Marked each call that they made
Lived a life easy and free
I have sat and felt respond
Each passing moment a changing ecstasy
Felt the energy pass up my spine and beyond –
Into the crown of stars, a spiralling galaxy


Copyright © Christopher J. Hudson 1996