Monday, December 19, 2011

Winter Solstice

The silver tree is a white ghost
in the dimpled white of last week’s snow
as the pale glow in the eastern sky
shows where the short-lived sun will rise
while night withdraws itself to where
a thin moon hangs above the hills.

The coloured lights of the coming feast
Shine in the silent streets below;
The last cries of the drunken night
Are echoes, and the drinkers sleep.
The birds wait, frozen on the tree.
A prayer stirs in the coldest heart.

© C.M.M. 12/11


  1. Oh Christine - the killer last line- this is one of your best.

  2. That is beautiful and profound, Christine and as Rosemary says - the last line really hits home.

  3. Anonymous7:17 PM

    Simplicity and truth- the landscape of the heart- again, thank you