The Real Coming: A Poem for Advent

A great grey mist
                surrounds us--
   as if to clog the light,
                and squelch our hope.

Or, is it saying: “slow down,”
‘tis the season
                to be awake and attentive.
Draw near.
Kneel before this ordinary beauty.
Touch the wet, muddy, leaf-strewn ground.
Holy, holy, holy.

See, the Artist has dabbed
                brilliant yellow on the tail-tips
                                of Cedar Wax Wings.
And the Lover has hung
                fragile water-drop jewels
                                around the necks of the brown weeds
                                                in the field.

Perhaps if you can see these
                small wonders,
you will not miss the Real Coming after all!

Betty Voigt