What with the whole earth turned towards the winter sky
On this side of paradise
The forests will echo with the wrong kind of laughter
For now. As green-faced elves hide in the night-shadows of the evergreen
Still one with the snow
The Saint, believe but not seeing, will almost despair
Falling on his knees and calling to those who see but do not believe
"Elves, dwarves, children of the spring-faced quarter
Come out, come out." A yearning that will ring out unheeded but not unheard
Not answered, but gilded and canonized into a yearning
Saved for later, another year, hour, day
When the sons of night will turn to face the Sun of Light
When the cloud of witnesses will uncloud their brows
And show their faces to Adam again.
But for now, like snow collecting on the slain
His appeal is cast into a triptych for another season
To serve as a reminder for those who are prone to forget
Except the wise and the desperate
But by then, there will be no difference.
Even if there was a snowflake that made no sound
When it came to the ground, no one would hear it.
It's not your fault, but the elves still think you could have done better.