Night-fall

The night falls thick and soft as heaven’s feather-down duvet

Decks every hill and croft where dull November tatters lay

The landscape boasts a host of marshmallow-like infantry

Where once upon an afternoon green bushes used to be

…the silent night is silver white; I cannot bear to snore

While under the influence of quadrillion stars or more

Is there a fount in Heaven that spills diamonds just for fun?

Earth is the grand recipient of heaven’s over-run

And we within the thunder of plush plunder feel like kings

Forgetting in its wonder small and unimportant things

Where angel-feathers fall and we feel almost fit to fly

Within this whirling, swirling magi-furling from the sky

The silence of this stilly night echoes of centuries

And almost we can hear the waft of bells upon the breeze

Then, almost I’m persuaded to wait lest perchance Heaven

Is spilling angels singing ‘peace on earth, goodwill to men’

Where just this afternoon hills shivered in thread-bare brown-gray

Before glad tidings wrapped them in a feather-down duvet

© Janet Martin

When I picked Matt up at work around six-o-clock this evening snow was falling in a thick feather-frenzy. At midnight, after Matt's hockey game the night is a hushed, plush pillow on a downy duvet.