Christmas

Sweet honey of harmattan What a season you are To see thee at the eleventh hour At the end of the tunnel And flown come upon the bank Of spring morning water Alas! You came in a twinkle of an eye I have gone here and there And made myself motley to the view For your absent Do stay for my sake to my grief To cure what public manner Breed on my diary For me to receive a new brand For my nature to subdue on my paw Come and proclaim new memory I am yearning for your presence Like a woman for the monthly period Do stay even you are seasonal You are Wood who gather moss The star in the sky The sweet and perfect season The temperate all want Love, endurance, strength and skill To warm, comfort and please With the touch of an angelic feeling