When snow is shaken From the balsam trees And they’re cut down And brought into our houses
When clustered sparks Of many-colored fire Appear at night In ordinary windows
We hear and sing The customary carols
They bring us ragged miracles And hay and candles And flowering weeds of poetry That are loved all the more Because they are so common
But there are carols That carry phrases Of the haunting music Of the other world A music wild and dangerous As a prophet’s message
Or the fresh truth of children Who though they come to us From our own bodies Are altogether new With their small limbs And birdlike voices
They look at us With their clear eyes And ask the piercing questions God alone can answer.
From Living Things: Collected Poems, by Anne Porter. Reprinted with permission from Steerforth Press.
