In wintry woods the wind is herding the snowflakes like a shepherd's flock, and every fir intuits how swiftly she'll turn devout, aglow with sacred light, and strains to listen outward; toward the pale paths she extends her boughs— prepared, resisting the gusts, and rises to meet the one night of splendor and light. In wintry woods the wind is herding the snowflakes like a shepherd's flock, and every fir intuits how swiftly she'll turn devout, aglow with sacred light, and strains to listen outward; toward the pale paths she extends her boughs— prepared, resisting the gusts, and rises to meet the one night of splendor and light.
