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The Heavens Declare
By Keith Patman
© 1980
The snow has drifted deep against the door
And smoke is flung, a truce flag to the sky.
Long shadows stalk the hills. The fox's cry
Is carried, lonely, with the north wind's roar.
Across the meadow's shadow-marbled floor
The hoof prints of the racing roe deer lie,
And high above the pines which sway and sigh
A silver sickle sails and two stars soar.
All doors are barred and fires made to blaze –
Upon the hills no human voice is heard –
Yet sickle-sharp, the songs of glory reach
Across a million miles in perfect praise;
The moon, in wordless tribute to the Word,
Night unto winter night uttereth speech.
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