In Winter's House

In winter’s house there’s a room

That’s pale and still as mist in a field

While outside in the street every gate’s shut firm,

Every face as cold as steel.

In winter’s house there’s a bed

That is spread with frost and feathers,

That gleams in the half-light like rain in a disused yard

Or a pearl in a choked-up stream.

In winter’s house there’s a child

Asleep in a dream of light that grows out

Of the dark, a flame you can hold in your hand

Like a flower or a torch on the street.

In winter’s house there’s a tale

That’s told of a great chandelier in the garden,

Of fire that catches and travels miles,

Of all gates and windows open wide.

In winter’s house there is a flame

Being dreamt by a child in the night,

In the small quiet house at the turn in the lane

Where the darkness gives way to light.