(for Camilla and Beatrice)

One last, silvered leaf fails to fall
from its tree.  A hard year’s winter
has frozen your voice.

                          Therefore you cannot sing—
or rejoice in your listening church-
where candles thrill to their endings,
light’s brave lovers — gold carols
this dark Advent;
                         though the sore heart hearkening…

and the descant moon,
its cold, pure breve over the earth
like unplayed music.