Hoar Frost

HOAR FROST Multi-fingered trees drowned in the mist Mist like the cold hand of death coming to Ramses Last night’s mist - purifying spirit Enveloping all in the frost Like a well-tended graveyard Dead, silent, nothing moves The ugly old dead trees - and The lovely young live trees Are levelled, enveloped, Masked in a white shroud Each tree - asleep, dead Recreated in white Born again of water and Holy Spirit Ready to enter the kingdom of heaven. All souls look alike All the trees look alike New souls reborn sinless Souls of trees waiting These ghost trees are not real trees Their previous life forgotten, bees and pollen All sensual feeling numbed Their tree souls purified Pure innocence - sin free Prepared for tree heaven Cold joy of heaven Ah….the forgotten delights Of being a larch or elder or oak. The warmly imperfect summer life