Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
After Epiphany I
Epiphany is the door into winter
Into those bleak, grey days, into the cold
When time itself is huddled in the dark
Asleep, suspended in the drifting mist
In clouds of icy mist among the trees
Above the somnolent, shivering earth
The brief, pale sun in silence disappears
The moon in silence rises high to watch
Over a world asleep until far spring
Epiphany is the door into winter
After Epiphany II
There will not be a gay bonfire tonight
The outside animals were early fed
And early sheltered in their straw-strewn barn
To chew and low and snuffle through the hours
Then folks withdrew from duties and the dark
Into the house to hang their coats and find
A chair next to the stove; they sigh the time
And mourn the emptiness where was the tree
And linger drowsily over a Christmas book
There will be not be a gay bonfire tonight
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