Poem

December

When snow falls delicately,

like a dusting of meows

from a cat trying to get attention

but not making herself intrusive,

the human heart beats quietly,

like a steady, running purr

or the flutter of a set of

gentle ripples on a smooth painting.

Still. There is no sound to that

kind of falling, no fright, only

gentle lapping, a little lifting,

and quiet, quiet respect.

(c) Copyright 1999. The Christian Science Publishing Society

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