Still imaginings of life suspended
beyond this hard shell of walls at dawn.
A pure white world lies without
warm eider down within.
A rumble and a growl intrude
to pierce the peace, to force a pass
as plow plunders the sleep of beauty
in her mantle of white.
Then echoes from the labyrinth:
the clang of sword as plowshares
does it forge to plunge in turn the
sphere of earth awakened under snow.