As soft the new lain snow beds down
And laden trees bend low to ground
The lowly beasts with muffled sound
Their comfort seek in safe surround.
And I my husbandry complete
A path do trace with eager feet
Toward the golden panes that greet
My weary bones with promise sweet
Of wood-stoked blaze and cushioned bed
Of damp wool-scent curled ‘round my head
As snow-soaked coat and hat quick shed
The cloak of lace upon them spread.
But though my body sore inclined
To seek out hearth and humankind
Does forge its way with intent blind
A silver web my feet entwines.
The moon, hung high, will have her way
Her spell, tight-bound, my progress stays
And stilled, I meet her kindly gaze
My soul awash with peace, with grace.