Christmas Eve Snowfall

By ARNOLD KENSETH
Now snow upon our village lays
Its slow but always sudden white
That gives us warmth by falling cold,
Gives glory to the newborn King.
And angels hover in our trees
Descending from the middle sky,
On blurred, on rising falling wings
As once on happy Bethlehem.
It is an infant, open gift
Placed by our human crib of dark:
Peace on this Eve of violence
Before the rising of the Prince.
Anxious, we watch through our black glass
The flakes fall, swirl in single file,
As sinners pondering free grace
Miss the three kings, the absent Star.