December Days
Dusk falls early, the sky is painted in hues of grey,
Echoes of flute music hovers over leaf bare lanes,
Crisp air carries old separation songs and new quiet hope,
Each breath a frost-soft whisper by the window pane.
Memory seems to glide gently where the candles burn low,
Branches of trees seek help from heavens by stretching their arms towards the sky,
Easing of burdens we cannot undo or remake,
Rooted in faith like seeds beneath the cold ground lie.
Drift of snow-dust promises that beneath the hard earth
Awake the green, the unseen, the tender shoot of spring.
Yearning for rebirth, we stand in the stillness of time,
Surrendering what we cannot change, embracing what will bring.
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