Home >> Volume 7, Issue 01

Nativity of Our Lord, CimetiÈre Mont-Calvaire

Peter Huff

Snow falls upon the tiny grave
We bought before your first feast day.

In frost and bright immaculate,
A beggar’s cloak of evergreen
Close swaddles you;

Purple martins, late in migration,
Huddle warm round your low,
Unorthodox manger.

And if wise men trace your too brief
Star, earth’s mute angel will sing.