A Yule Yet To Be

The shops were bright—a dazzling sheen,

With garlands twined and ribbons curled,

But in the heart, a space unseen,

Begins a story, as snows unfurl. 

The children's eyes, a hopeful gleam,

Anticipate a joyous sound:

Of reindeer hooves, on waking dreams,

On frosted earth, on frosted ground. 

And in that pause before the chime,

A sacred space grants tranquil peace,

The music plays, transcends all time,

A blessed calm in the witching rings.

This carol's tune, faintly cried

Lost in the fog of passing time.

A silent night, a silent plea,

To the being yet to be. 

Parting tinsel

Perching nerves

Canine resting 

Chirping stir cad bird 

Raspberry swirl

End of the year

Stampeading boots:

The Flight of the Snow-beards

No rosy cheeks, no gentle hand,

Only eyes of ice, and a skeletal frame. 

Showing a future bleak and grim,

Conscripting fear with a frozen visage. 

A limbering tree that held broken toys

Over many years of seasons spoiled.

Its star atop, a dying spark,

Dimming in the chilling dark.

Its scent of pine hangs faint but far

To the coming of the frozen father.

Put bergamot tea over a finicky fire

To lull the bite by winter's ire.