A Winter Evening
When the snow falls against the window,
The evening bell rings long,
The table is prepared for many,
And the house is well cultivated.
Some in their wanderings
Come to the gate on dark paths.
The tree of grace blooms golden
From the earth's cool sap.
Wanderer, step silently inside;
Pain has petrified the threshold.
There in pure radiance
Bread and wine glow upon the table.
© Jim Doss & Werner Schmitt