SnowAt dawn I drew aside night’s curtain, found
familiar world of yesterday redeemed
from grime, clothed in baptismal white.
And all was still and silent, as on God’s
unmarked canvas that first day,
when he divided night from light.
When all was good.
As Wordsworth’s inward eye recalled
the lakeside beauty, so do I at evening’s
pensiveness recall that morning scene.
And gathering each day’s fret and wrong
I wait upon tomorrow’s unstained page
to write again.
(Genesis: 1 vv. 3-5)