In Winter's hush, the southern world lies quiet,
Nestled in the growing darkness.
It waits, seemingly frozen in time,
For the night that anticipates the rebirth of the sun.
As log fires crackle and spark,
the frosted world is bathed in warmth.
Womblike the darkness enfolds the Yule night
The gloamy day, truncated,
The blackest night, lengthened
to allow for celebration of life's renewal.
Yah! You're playing :) I feel all warm and toasty reading your poem and looking at that log fire x Hope you're all rugged up and warm tonight, brrr, that southerly is mean tonight!ReplyDelete
Lovely poem. It's hard to think about winter here. We are hot and humid. :(ReplyDelete