Advent

I found the tracks
in the deep snow
between the trees.

In spite of facts
we did not know,
but prophet sees.

No one answers
as we waited
to feast or drink.

Watching dancers
breathless, baited
to float or sink.

Back surrounded
at the table,
a baby cries.

All dumbfounded:
not a fable.
Belief defies.


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This poem was written in response to this week's The Speakeasy prompt.  The first line and picture above were given as inspiration to write fiction or poetry.  This is my first poetic entry.  Constructive criticism appreciated.  Click on the button below to read the other fabulous writers who are hanging out there this time around.

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