Christmas; the themes are exhausted.
Yet there is always room
on the heart for another
snowflake to reveal the pattern.

Love knocks with such frosted fingers.
I look out. In the shadow
of so vast a God I shiver, unable
to detect the child for the whiteness.

R.S. Thomas, No Truce with the Furies (Newcastle upon Tyne: Bloodaxe Books, 1995), p. 84.