A poem that weaves thoughts of Easter with those of Christ's birth, inspired by silent nights and still mornings looking out over Dartmoor.

Other poems shared on this website by the author are Gabriel and Pierced.

Silent Night

Silent night,

So still, even the babbling brook
Seemed to have hushed its laughter
As it gathered dew from hills.
It seemed as if the whole of creation
Was holding its breath;
Waiting,
Waiting on God.

There had been two
Silent nights;
One at the beginning,
One at the end,
Or so it seemed at the time.

The first silent night
Drew to a close
As dawn brushed the sky
With salmon pink,
The hushed backdrop
For the unfolding events.
In the distance a cry broke
The spell, then another
As the labouring mother
Begat the Son of God
And gasped at last
“It is finished”
To hold the Son of God
So close in her arms.

The other night
Followed that other
Bloody labour.
When the Son of God
Gasped his last
“It is finished”
And the world
Became silent
Creation shocked
That man should think
Himself greater than God.

But Creation knew
That first child of God
And waited until the third day;
Dawn brushed the sky
With salmon pink,
The hushed backdrop
For the unfolding events.
In the distance a cry broke
The spell, then another
As the women discovered
The risen Son of God
To hold a forgiven world
Forever in His arms.

Silent night,
So still even the babbling brook
Seems to have hushed its laughter
As it gathers dew from the hills.
It seems as if the whole of creation
Is holding its breath;
Waiting,
Waiting on God.