By brian francis
Oh, to be home in this season of giving
To walk the old lanes where I walked as I grew
The crunch of the snow, the crystal reflections
The potential of Christmas about to come true
The rhythm of sleigh bells as they jostle and jingle
Down backcountry roads in the hollow of my youth
Songs sung with shivers, and warm knitted mittens
Singing about the story believed, accepted as truth
The smells of the cinnamon the clove and the nutmeg
Eggnog so lusciously rich as you drink
The lights and the colors, the strings and the tinsel
Bring back the magic of Santa’s joy-filled wink
The meadow light, still seen from my window
Revealing the snow, as it silently falls
just like the child who once sat here nodding
Waiting for Santa’s elusive reindeer’s paws
Memories tickle and ooze out in moments
Here in this place so surrounded by love
Remembering seasons lost to the ages
And songs to honor our Lord God above
Copyright ©2020 brian francis
Wordsmith: At The Forge 