In deeper woods, I’d rarely been,
where northern slope, in winter’s grin,
gathers every fir to stand knee deep in softened snow.
In verdant green amidst the cold,
sweet azure peeked with rays of gold
that coaxed the drifts to rise, dancing light in season’s show.
They stood quite close, in counsel there,
limbs locked on limbs, defenses shared,
confounding sense which path to tread.
Yet I with bow and axe in hand,
begged a prayer’s peaceful stand,
that for this Christmas deep in wood, one tree might bless my stead.
Snow above form boughs did bless
upon my head, or soft redress,
opened yet a path and clearing toward sun and open light.
There before my steps I’d see,
upon a ridge stretched long and free,
a single fir in perfect pose that beckoned hope of Christmas night.
Yet as I neared its lonely perch,
in drifted snow I’d sought to search,
a sacred hush stayed my heart and anxious soul to pause.
There as I stood, my senses real,
I seemed in church, I felt to kneel
there before the snowy pulpit, beg forgiveness of my cause.
At that moment, the day grew dim,
snow began, enclosed me in
with whispers of each flake’s descent and I in hallowed light.
Knowing that this one lone pine
had drawn my spirit out in kind,
I said a prayer of thanks and drew my return alone that night.
Each day that passed grew sweet with love,
though it snowed and stormed above,
something special was brewing mine.
Till Christmas eve, across the dell,
beneath the north faced forest’s vail,
a brilliant light was seen to rise from a sacred lonely pine.
‘Twas then I knew, was graced to see,
the blessing of a single tree,
the blessing of a simple proof
that grants the hope of Christmas truth.
image by “imgbuddy.com”