High like skeletons grim The trees hold up their arms; The last leaf's hurried from its limb By the tempest's wild alarms; The river ripples gray and cold, And autumn's o'er like a story told.
Deep in the lonely wood The leaves lie thickly strown; The timorous rabbit finds him food, The snow-bird seeks his own; The cricket long has ceased his song, For the breath of winter's cold and strong.
Close to the level plain The snow clings like a sheet; The chimney moans as if in pain, Lashed by the hissing sleet; And all good men are glad to be Where the Yule-log sparkles merrily.
You have again made your way in, Cold and beautiful. You are December, And I love you. Despite the seasonal celebration, I know you to be more. You are calm, You allow me to slow, To envelope the tranquility I crave. Your winds, December, though cold, Allow me to feel the life in my cheeks, And if I’m lucky, It too will bring the sweetness Of some distant firewood. I welcome your snow, December. So that I may sit wrapped in wool, By candlelight, The dog having nestled in as well, Watching the frozen rain accumulate On the branches of the birch and oak. Though I live in the city, I dream of loving you December, Even more – if I were in nature. Then I would feel closer to you, As a lover may feel, Or perhaps a mother to a child. I would know, I think, how to More fully know why I am in love With you. And being with you, December, Brings me to life.
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