Memory

I remember the church, its massing chimes,
the sharp biting air, hibernal cool sun.
New fallen snow lay pristine and untracked
level through to the tree torn horizon.
The heart of midwinter caught in its prime

Yet what stole the scene and locked it to mind  
was a man stood nearby leant on a cane.
Wrapped in heavy dark cloth against the day
he seemed lost in the lines etched deep on his face.
Still as the stones hard rowed to his side.

So intimate did this moment appear
I thought to lower my eyes, turn away.
Leave him to his quiet reminiscence  
of what I could not know though guessed its weight
spoke of a voice he again longed to hear.

Unable, I watched him begin to engrave,
strokes gently carved in the frost at his feet.
The marks scratched, at first, were hard to make out
but as letters resolved with task complete
Grace was risen and beside him again.

There by the light of our Lady of Sorrows
In the fading day of the longest night
a memory was born as many more were recalled