Composed

After ‘A Christmas Carol’ by Christina Rosetti

How moving must a poem be,

to be the choice, vox populi,

choristers, annual visitors,

red letter day, if only one;

though not so, bleak midwinter terms

of piling snow, heaven brought low,

its awkward rhythm, metre, feet -

an incarnation in repeat.

For span is scanned from heav’n to straw,

the question posed at stable door,

end, abrupt interrogative,

yet stated as inviting faith,

a creed left hanging, composed air.