“. . . write it in their sight . . .” —Ezekiel 43:11
The frigid rain glints fire about
the ice-drawn, lamplit night.
My skin is pricked with haily heat,
and warms my soul from skin to bone.
The slickened streets leave trails behind
the hansoms as they pass;
and men and ladies finely clad
glance fearful out at windswept trees.
Above the clouds, I’m sure a moon
the gloom doth try to strike,
but only flickering gaslamp flames
can whiten darkened streets.
So clear’s the air above the street:
no fog impedes the gaslight-glare.
Like silver sleet, the skydrops fall
and blend to gold in trembling pools.
Oh, how the flame makes bright the night!
Oh, how the rain from ill makes right!
Part of Sehr Gut Web • © Sehrgut.