The solstice of winter may darken our mood.
Dear sun slips away, and the Yule nights intrude.
‘Mid holiday sport,
Our days become short.
We stand, most appalled, as our neighbors turn rude.
Brisk wind chills our souls as the season begins,
And icy barbs fall on us, needles and pins.
Still, weather may pale,
Regardless of gale,
Compared to the numbness deep under our skins.
However, as soon as the briefest day’s passed,
The hope of light grows in the midwinter blast.
Fair skies may appear
If we wait till next year.
‘Ere long may the promise bring joy unsurpassed.
