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
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