Whiteout without and so
within awaiting east
wind's first biting
breath to thaw
the frost-locked flood
to wash the colour in
tumbling streams
of chaos across
this empty page

Below ground's virgin canopy
a stir of movement signs
all life renewing,
growing first
in the richwarm dark,
coiling to burst
in fountains of beauty
when the white tide turns
on the wheel
of the year of men

And the world waits
wondering
watching
for the first sprouting tip
to blast a breach
in this glassy snowscape,
glistening
listening
as if to hear from where
the first breath comes

Awen rising
and in the power
of her song
enchanted glades
will fill and flourish
and fruits flood forth
on bending boughs
as beauty's bounty
transforms as if forever
this empty page
to a living thing