The Oxen” (1915) — Thomas Hardy\n\nChristmas Eve, and twelve of the clock.\n“Now they are all on their knees,”\nAn elder said as we sat in a flock\nBy the embers in hearthside ease.\n\nWe pictured the meek mild creatures where\nThey dwelt in their strawy pen,\nNor did it occur to one of us there\nTo doubt they were kneeling then.\n\nSo fair a fancy few would weave\nIn these years! Yet, I feel,\nIf someone said on Christmas Eve,\n“Come; see the oxen kneel\n\n“In the lonely barton by yonder coomb\nOur childhood used to know,”\nI should go with him in the gloom,\nHoping it might be so.

A First Light\nI rise from the husk of yesterday,\nstill smelling of smoke and echo.\nThe mirror holds a stranger—\neyes bruised with old winters,\nmouth stitched with unshed words.\n\nYet there is a pulse beneath the ash,\na small, defiant throb of dawn.\nThe past clings like wet wool,\nbut I peel it back, thread by thread,\nbare-armed against the cold of becoming.\n\nIn the hush before the world stirs,\nI plant my breath in the soil of now—\na seed of quiet rebellion,\naching upward through the ribcage\ntoward whatever sun will have me.

A Gentle Paw in Memory The silence drapes the empty floor, Where once you waited by the door. Your faithful eyes, now shadows deep, Return to me in haunted sleep. No echo stirs, no pattering sound, No joyful step upon the ground. Yet in the hush, I feel you near, A loyal heart I still revere. Though night may fall and daylight fade, Your love no darkness can invade. Eternal bond, though worlds divide— My dearest friend still at my side.