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t'is midnight

by Peter Humphreys

Autumn leaves swirling and twirling in the winter breeze
Bonfires lit to take away the dark and warm our hands
Children giggling as they pretend to sleep ’til Santa calls
Damp nights and soggy clothes hanging in the hallway to dry
Empty log basket and no-one stirs to venture out in the freezing cold
Foggy mornings and icy nights, crystal dusted roads, Orion rising
Games by the fireside that we almost forgot, people we can never forget
Happy remembrance, hurts forgotten, sadness’s past recalling
Ice on the path and snowball fights, picking her up again and again
Juniper wine getting grandma merry, grandpa snoring, the cat asleep
Keeping secrets, staying safe, snuggling deep, snowing slightly
Loving life, living love, lingering on your words soft spoken
Mellow evenings, misty mornings and needle sharp clear nights
Never knowing what the new year will bring, thank goodness
Old decorations, opening cards, opening hearts to those forgotten
Phone calls from afar, pretty decorations on the tree, grateful peace
Queen’s speech on the radio, the neighbours singing, dad yawns
Rest, rest, rest, real contentment, raging fire, quiet calm, silence
Sleeping late, slowly cooking breakfast as the children buzz around
Turf smoke curling in the still air as we walk down the hill together
Unused presents lovingly given, but how many socks can a man wear
Velvet curtains, peeping through to see if anyone is out, relieved
Wet hands, wet feet, freezing nose but goodness me what snow this year
Xmas cards, xmas trees, dreading when the decorations are all down
Yule logs covered with chocolate, O temptation beyond endurance
Zero outside and boats on the river sounding their horns, t’is midnight

12/21/2007

Author's Note: A contribution to Michelle's competition: The Essence of the Season.

Posted on 12/21/2007
Copyright © 2023 Peter Humphreys

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 12/21/07 at 04:07 PM

Using the abecedarian form seems so fitting for this wonderful listing of the Yule season. This is full of activities and emotions, scenes and memories. A marvelous ending.

Posted by Rhiannon Jones on 12/22/07 at 06:03 PM

I missed the abecedarian form until I read Kristina's comment. "Turf smoke curling in the still air"...No place smells as good as Ireland when the fireplace is lit! And yet this poem feels so universal. Very nice.

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