March Snow In Enniskerry Poem by Bernard Kennedy

Slowly and my stealth, quietly by night,
like an intruder, the snowfall came
though Christmas Eve is long now gone.
Instead, March of many weathers creeps true.
The shops are closed, and Red weather warning keeps us home
to gaze towards Knocksink Nordic forest or like
Norwegian wood. Trees laden with white hold down
their Winter gift, a sorbet of snow, in Spring.
The bog meadow, beyond the church
white lawn is silent.
No football cheers but monks silence
in the arms of Monastery Road.
Snow slides from roof, the gentle thaw,
brings down the iced
covering from the large church house,
like icing falls from a slice of Christmas cake.
The church steeple
whitened, and the front mosaic
lit in evening, makes a lantern, as the Church,
alone stands, amidst the snow laden pathway,
as if a canvas from an artists brush.
Art and eternity, and music its sister,
are presented here. Our permanence,
like melting snow,
the human innate sigh of the divine.
Glencree, Curtlestown, Kilmacanogue,
are texted
'no masses this weekend of swirling snow'.