The years drag their slow, silent feet
Across the passage of time.
Soon again, churlish souls slip on sleet,
While bright carolling bells chime.
First snow, that crisp castor sugar, turns
To grey, squeaking slush; under
The wintry blue sky, who yearns and yearns
For the sun and its wonders.
Well, it really does irritate me
When the grey slush sprays on shoes
And ironed pants with undisguised glee ---
I’d sheet them, but it’s no use.
I’d slip on the sidewalks just the same.
Small puffs of snow would be blown
Away, illumined by slight flames
In lamplights which on flowers shone.
Those luminescent lights remind me
Of times when my siblings and I
Crowd around the hearth, not Christmas trees,
And watched the blazing ashes fly.
With cups of hot cocoa in our hands,
We would whisper secret hopes
For presents that were smashing and grand,
While bundled in warm bathrobes.
Once, we were impervious to the cold ---
Who cared about stinging cheeks or
Old Man Winter nipping on your nose?
Soon we’d have hot milk galore.
But as delicate flakes drift and fly,
Chestnuts were roasted no more;
And when we left our nests for the sky
Jack Frost’s pranks were but ignored.
The winter air, laced with wistfulness,
Intoxicates me. Pity
The snow had buried Saint Nicholas
With our snow angels weary.
But when she snuggles into my chest
And the blaze chortles in vain,
I feel blessed, for I could not have guessed
I chanced on Christmas again.
Keep up the good work
