Norway

Cold, the ice which breaks at dawn,
When warm the sun beats down,
And aims with centre focus,
To burn into the crown,

And thus emblaze upon a nation,
With heartfelt rays of hope,
The truth of that which evades
That sought, by all who grope

In darkness all the months,
Which pass alike, or so it seems,
And struggle to thus find a glimmer
Of the outer seams.

But in an instant can such wisdom,
Grace a child who stands,
Alone, but one with all at whim,
And reflects the Son of Man.