For the Lady
This old December, let ice shingle
in the eaves, let frost sparkle
on the ground, sprinkle diamonds
in the fields. Let skies in the dark
wink with stars. For the Lady.
Let winter earth break open,
heavy clay fall away,
rock, crust, and mantle, crack:
bud forth an Infant. Let flinty
silence sing. For the Maiden.
See, she’s kneeling by a Child,
folds her cloak around Him,
her immaculate breath mingles,
in the midnight warm-straw air,
with the Bairn’s. Her bright Sun.
Clamber near the Crib,
jostle shepherds in the night;
tiptoe round the lolling oxen;
bring a candle to the Light.
Maybe He will smile. For the Lady.
poem by Geraldine Clarkson