Christmas is, in a word, ephemeral;
It only lasts as long as lasting will allow.
But the idea, and the warmth, and the mood it holds dear
Is held dear in our hearts…for now.
The world about us is changing
As the veil of nostalgia grows thin.
But the child inside all is watching, waiting,
For that night of all nights to begin.
The flakes float through the dark;
Crisp and cool, sharp and cruel,
Prancing against a landscape of glittering lights.
They might stick to the ground,
Perfect playthings for all the world’s youth,
Or they might continue their windswept flight.
The ice that soon forms from the water
That drips…drips…drips slowly down
Freezes end upon end to the gutters on roofs
And adheres to the hearts within men.
The fire that glows from the hearth in each home
Has the power to thaw and the strength to endure
Every frost-bitten soul on the ice-ridden plains
And the gales of sleet shed from the clouds unseen.
The lake lies still, transformed to a transparent sheet,
Sketches across the surface carved by the meticulous dance
Of skates and sleds and their iron kin
That skidded and sliced through its shiny skin.
The road through the town is covered
By a glistening layer of snow.
The lights and the wreaths hang over the old-thyme shops;
Bundled carolers singing familiar hymns beneath.
The scent of cookies waft from the bakeries
The sugary smells tinting the air.
Toy shops proudly display their varied array
Of soldiers, trains, planes, guns, and dolls.
A host of holy angels sing of their choral bliss
Conducted by the King of Kings,
For whom this joyous season was founded
And all the world besides.
A magnificent fir tree stands erect
In the centre of town, flaunting its grandeur,
Decked out in flashing red bulbs, sparkling silver tinsel,
Glass ornaments of every size, shape, and color.
Each branch stretches out to be noticed,
A heavenly angel is perched on its crown,
Its needles perk up in the chilly winter air
And its trunk steadies the weight of its festive gown.
A feast is spread at the table;
Turkey and stuffing, potatoes and ale,
Green beans: boiled with bacon and onions.
Pumpkin pie: sprinkled with ginger and whipped cream.
The snowflakes are spun round in circles,
Embroidering and lighting the night.
Their beauty outshines every man-made glorification
With its dance so swift, wet, and white.
These snowflakes only dance in my head,
And the town lights up only there, too.
Reality has made this dream a mere fabricated fable
And the snow a lifeless product of nature.
Let it go, what you know of the present
Let it go, what you covet from the past
Let it go, what you have carved for your future
Seize it now, what you find in your heart.
Christmas is not just a day;
It is a state of mind, state of heart
From which all evil is thrown out the door
And creation’s depravities depart.
I have never once seen the scene I have described unto you,
Nor have I lived in its splendor.
But, I believe, whether your years are front or behind,
We all long for such a snow-blessed Christmas Eve.
I exist in this Christmas my mind has created,
The hope for reality grows all the more feeble.
But the hope for my dream endures
All of these bleak Decembers,
For white is in the winter night
That everyone remembers.
Morning's Early Dark 