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December by Harvey Carson Grumbine

December by Harvey Carson Grumbine

December by Harvey Carson Grumbine

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.

December by Thomas Parsons

December by Thomas Parsons

December by Thomas Parsons

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.

Written by Thomas Parsons

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