A Snowfall
In this temperate climate, in the Thames valley,
Under our cloudy skies the snow comes rarely
Unlooked-for, in the dark, beyond belief
Like visitings of angels and as brief.

Their wings are white over roofs, their luminous
Hands bring to light the fine bones of the trees.
Something we apprehend, not ours to possess,
Say beauty itself, they inhabit a while for us,

And by noon are gone, unless a feather flutters
Here and there darkening in the rainy gutters.

Where to Fly?
For Catherine Beeston
...