Poem
December
When snow falls delicately,
like a dusting of meows
from a cat trying to get attention
but not making herself intrusive,
the human heart beats quietly,
like a steady, running purr
or the flutter of a set of
gentle ripples on a smooth painting.
Still. There is no sound to that
kind of falling, no fright, only
gentle lapping, a little lifting,
and quiet, quiet respect.
(c) Copyright 1999. The Christian Science Publishing Society