W. S. Merwin's poem "Alba" is not exactly Christmas seasonal, so clearly is it set in the literal flowering of spring time. Still, there is much of the spirit of Christmas in it - the journey afoot and on mule, the blossom of new life, the unexpected companionship, a gift of breath, of song, a repeated song of praise, a kind of prayer, a greater gift for which we haven't words.
Alba
Climbing in the mist I came to a terrace wall
and saw above it a small field of broad beans in flower
their white fragrance was flowing through the first light
of morning there a little way up the mountain
where I had made my way through the olive groves
and under the blossoming boughs of the almonds
above the old hut of the charcoal burner
where suddenly the scent of the bean flowers found me
and as I took the next step I heard
the creak of the harness and the mule's shod hooves
striking stones in the furrow and then the low voice
of the man talking softly praising the mule
as he walked behind through the cloud in his white shirt
along the row and between his own words
he was singing under his breath a few phrases
at a time of the same song singing it
to his mule it seemed as I listened
watching their breaths and not understanding a word
- W.S. Merwin
