Snow

At dawn I drew aside night’s curtain, found

familiar world of yesterday redeemed

from grime, clothed in baptismal white.

And all was still and silent, as on God’s

unmarked canvas that first day,

when he divided night from light.

When all was good.

As Wordsworth’s inward eye recalled

the lakeside beauty, so do I at evening’s

pensiveness recall that morning scene.

And gathering each day’s fret and wrong

regretfully,

I wait upon tomorrow’s unstained page

to write again.

(Genesis: 1 vv. 3-5)