Winter’s Grip

Lamplight bathes her swaddled feet;

Blankets line this narrow seat.

Two amid fur, flannel, wool as his

Horses pull this low-slung sleigh.

A well-wrapped gift, trimmed in fire’s warmth,  

Yet she feels no hint of heat:

“O Lord, revive this frozen soul on winter days.”

 

Drowsy … dream … a vanquished ache …  

Questions flow … a shoulder shake—

Awake, she beholds the door of home. …  

Wraps exchanged for quilts and tea,

Slowly warmth returns—sweet sleep till dawn.

“Oh, to sew, to sweep, to bake—

Jehovah-Rapha, Thou art worthy of all praise.”