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Poem

The house was silent when I woke,
I wrapped up warm and went to smoke.
I tip-toed through my cousin's home,
(when I die, it's here I'll roam.)

In the kitchen, I poured some tea
and climbed up on the window seat.
These European windows swing
inward, such a novel thing.

Old wooden shutters, they swing out
and as they do I almost shout,
apparently, it snowed last night
and snow's still falling, to my delight.

The house sits high above the town,
I lean far out and look around.
The snow is thick upon the roofs;
except for snowflakes, nothing moves.

And that's when I first heard the sound
that snowflakes make when falling down.
A whispered hush that muffles all,
I'm stunned and childlike, struck with awe.

I close my eyes and breathe the air,
(no air is sweeter anywhere)
and then the most miraculous thing:
the bells in all the churches ring.

Though each church tower's bell is rung
at different speeds with different songs,
they blend and merge as they all rise,
from far below, up to the skies.

And I from my snowy window perch
feel my soul and heart both lurch.
I pray this memory will forever stay,
this gift that God gave me that day.

Thank you, my cousin,
for all the times
you gave me moments most sublime.

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