Blank with expectation,
The untrod snow invites us
To make our mark with foot and sledge and plough,
To etch upon its waiting whiteness: 'We are here.'
Bright, still, glass-clear,
The pool at dawn awaits us.
We plunge, and all is broken;
We leave it churned and heaving in our wake.
Through turmoil we have stated: ‘We are here.’
We pause awhile
Above the empty page.
What boundless possibilities are there.
We cannot leave it void, we must respond:
Scribimus ergo sumus. We are here.
And being thus, can we resist
The offer of the new-born child?.