sung about bleak midwinters
this is the first I remember
snow falling in Bethlehem —
even as I sit in the sunshine
of a sixty degree afternoon.
The weather of my heart
has seen mostly grey days of late;
in the fatiguing fog of grief
I find comfort in that couple
on the Palestinian road,
whether slouching or singing
their way into town — and now
comes word that they’ve run into
snow just outside of the city.
Should we drive out and find them,
or do we just go on knowing they
somehow always seem make it . . .
I am not carrying my own weight
these days, you see. But then, no
one gets through the storm alone.
No one. Grab your boots; we
cannot wait. O come, let us go
into the cold and bring them in.