I ventured out to a hill near a forest
Beneath a sullen sky, seeking peace and rest.
Feathery flakes fell on the soft, sloping dell,
Adjacent to the pines, I crossed a frozen well.
Silence reigned in the timberland of white.
Every bough was barren, shaken by the cold.
The chilly wind whispered in the day's moonlight,
And seemed to echo a sapience of old.
I heard my footsteps breach the still,
Of the virginal field, of the shallow hill.
The flurries spoke of reason, coupled with grace.
Their soft epiphanies were of fleecy downs,
As they covered reeds of chestnut browns:-
One often finds God in a lonely place.
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