Fluffy birds are nestled in knots,
Bristled badgers buried in dens,
Frosted ground glimmers white under starlight
At exactly three quarters past ten.
Concealed deep beneath pines
Atop a hill of humbling height
Hides the most comforting spot for a sleep
On a snowy Christmas night.
There quaintly perches a house
Built of logs from the forest around,
And in those snug cozy quarters
Elderly husband and wife will be found.
They rock in a swing on the porch –
Their fingers, numb intertwined –
As they gaze in taciturn contemplation
Of that crystal snowscape refined.
“My darling, how quiet the Earth is,”
Whispered the youthful old man to his wife.
“My dear, what would you expect,
Past rackets having been more than rife?”
The gentle old woman sighed,
Her warm breath penetrating the cold;
They were both worn dry to their bones,
Wrinkle o’er wrinkle, wistful fold.
Their children and their children
Had just driven off out of sight
To the sonorous voice of Elvis
Blessing a snowy Christmas delight.
The cabin that was filled with cheer,
Peals of laughter, light of love,
Is a cavern with weak candles still burning
To the tune of the stars up above.
“Do you recall how we found this place,
And decided to construct a home?
It’s moments like these that assure me
It’s better to settle than roam.”
“Though it was quite long ago,
It feels like but three days have passed.
Yet I know this feeling not to be true
From our heartfelt memories amassed.”
Life grows sweeter with age
Like a rich red burgundy wine;
So long as the dreams that you treasure
Sparkle, and independently shine.
With a creak of joints and wood
That the lovers heard not at all,
They retired into that warm empty cabin
To heed Sleep’s succulent call.
But their house is far from empty
When you consider the magic within;
The crackling hearth dimly exposing
Dusty records, their continuous spin.
The earthen, timber-lined walls
Hoist high traditional décor:
A carpet shows Santa guiding his sleigh
Towards a homely wreath-garnished door.
A massive conifer darkens the room,
Silver tinsel brightens the hall,
A smoky aroma of holiday feast
Wafts between each glittering ball.
The cabin, though dormant, sleeping,
Like the frozen forest outside,
But offers a warmer, calm, peace-seeking lull,
Which in its redwood parents confides.
Feelings felt, received, and deeply revered
As contented folks snuggle in bed:
Someone to hold, to love, to cherish forever,
And a firm, comely roof overhead.
This cabin atop that small hill
Stands sturdy through each passing year
So long as you keep your mind focused
On what you ought to hold dear.
They are the simplest things in the world,
Though hardest to find, their joy never trite –
And you know the Lord’s been good to you
On a snowy Christmas night.
Morning's Early Dark 