January’s snow came not in whispered tread, But fell with sovereign weight on West Virginia’s crown,
Till mountains bowed and every forest fell to hush, As though the earth itself had drawn one breath And dared not loose it.
There, amid the shaping of a fragile man of snow, The wood did stir, and forth came Sacsquash—
No heralded thunder, nor shape the heart should fear.
But calm made flesh and kindly set,
As steady as the hills that knew him first.
We labored side by side in wordless mirth, While heaven’s white kept falling all around.
Though winter ruled the hour, warmth yet remained.
And when he turned again to shadowed trees,
The cold stayed on—
Yet in that January hour, He left me sunshine.
Love,
Marguerite Grace,
Written by Marguerite Grace
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