It’s about the size of a hand cupping a snow-
flake, the first of the season, this heart
beating back the fires around her
the frozen lake, the sweep of wind rising
to quell the fear, the voices drowning
then driving, jealously guarding
the ground snow pure in its pristine skyfall
a secret bower where the moon shone
and the woods sang to her and she knew
one day she would sing back to the Voice
that sang delight from the dark unknown
lovely to the child cupping a handful of snow
A poetic response with reference to Robert Frost’s “Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening” to Joy‘s prompt at earthweal weekly challenge “about how our first poems become part of our first voices, and how those voices are always with us because they have become part of our own. If you can include an echo of the natural world, even if it’s only the wind as a torrent of darkness, that will be all to the good, but is not mandatory.”
Dreams from a Pilgrimage 
Beautiful writing Dora.
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Thank you so much my friend.
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You’re most welcome
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💝
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❤️💖💜
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Beautiful
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Thank you.
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Those moments when the magic and music and mystery of the world enthrall mind and heart are like seeds for the poetry we eventually found to speak it properly. Snow in a cupped hand, the secret bower of moony woods give the child the nascent words she will speak back in its Voice. A divine portal and response to the challenge, Dora.
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Thank you B. Grateful for your feedback as always.
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And here we see the results of our early voices in action. Just beautiful. I love how this echoes the theme of the Frost poem without in any way making it obvious as a source–it’s just a bit of music and image under the hood, and that is what I think our first poems become, enriching us like compost, if you will; tho they still retain in our hearts their initial integrity and power to speak to us. they are also dissolving, feeding us with their energy. In this, I love the counterpoise of warmth and cold, light and darkness, the heart which is “the size of a hand cupping a snowflake..” and “…the ground snow pure in its pristine skyfall..” I enjoyed your first response,Dora, but I really savor this one.
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I’m so glad you enjoyed it, Joy. That means a lot to me given the richness of your poetry. You set the bar high, my friend.
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What a wonderful poem, crisp and clean like the first snowfall…….I especially love the third stanza. Lovely.
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Awww thanks, Sherry, you’re most generous as always.🧡
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What an absolutely lovely poem, Dora!
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Awww, you make me happy, Punam. Thank you. 💝
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You are so welcome. ❤️
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Oh yes, it’s that knowing you’re going to sing back. That you MUST sing back. It takes on a life of its own. So glad you wrote this to go with your other.
–Shay
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Thanks Shay. So glad you liked it my friend. The singing back, the communion, as “partakers of the divine nature” as Peter puts it in 2 Peter 1:4 is quite simply, EVERYTHING.
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Been cold here in LA; but not as cold as other parts of US; this poem is welcoming winter!
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I hear January’s going to be a bear (Old Farmer’s Almanac) — Lotsa snow.
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Singing back to the Voice…what a lovely thought. (K)
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It’s what makes poetry ultimately worthwhile. 🙂
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Just beautiful, resonant and seasonal, Dora!
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Thank you so much, Ingrid.
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This should have more reach! It is an amazing poem! Not many will understand the deep meaning of it! I love it
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Grateful fro your comment, A. Thank you!
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