Poetry on God's Creation "And creation's wonders are but the outer fringe of God's works; how faint the whisper we hear of him!"---Job 26: 14
Monday, January 18, 2010
Frail branches pierce the silent sky The sun is dipped in silver dye The moon looks like a frozen plate And shivers down on country gates. The stars are hid in hoary capes Like glass, their splintered, gleaming shapes Are paused upon the glitt'ring eye Of lakes in dead, unflowing rye. A puff of ice, a twirl of cloud Are equably caught in the shroud Of sky and stars and frozen moon That spread across the winter gloom.