My Lover’s eyes, they bade me hail,
as I awoke these winter days,
her dry, her thirsty lips did raise,
within my heart a heady gale.
The goad, the spur, the cattle prod,
Ambition’s yoke at last put off,
Anxiety I seem to doff,
as I behold her, grateful, awed.
The sparrows sing, the crows they caw,
Hivernus’ quiet winter song–
when all is right that once was wrong,
when all await the shepherds’ call.
My Lover, Wife, my Bride, my Sun,
for thee my eyes shine radiant blue,
in thee my soul is knit anew,
as in thy womb is knit our son.
Our Shepherd came one winter morn;
our lady lay him near a stall.
The shepherds came and sang in awe–
no more were Adam’s sons forlorn.
Let angels sing and wise men kneel,
hivernal nature prostrate lie.
In him our tears, our sorrows die
who bear the Shepherd’s rod and seal.
Sunday, December 13. In Middletown, Maryland, on retreat cum uxore.
Alex Poulos, PhD 