My Grandpa's In December

Winter nights where naïve dreams were made, my mind and heart still store. Deep hush I hear and feel it still, now gone, what was before. The ground which frosty powder lay and breaths of thin cold air, I long remember you, my feet once wandered there. Yonder buckeye tall with barren boughs, casting moon beam shadows over rigid plow. Fields shining in glistening, silent white, while fence rows, like dim lines, Stood stark framed in the night. Old warm house, the years it told, its basement treasures to us so old. We young, so new and yet naïve, arrived oft on Christmas eve. Look there, beyond the road I see the lonely barn and yard, the one brave light stood oh so still, its glow, look close, look hard! Donned rubber boot over bread sacks, hand-me-down coats, mitts, and knit caps, that's what I can remember, and ran did we to play each day, my Grandpa's in December.