Decemberance (Hark the Heavelevens)

The annual skirmish is almost won -
December, O December,
The penultimate month of the season

Swaddled hills empty into the deep, dark depths of the fabled forest –
Where elvish song and melody land upon evergreen leaves whose golden veins are coarse
- Sleepy mysteries await.

‘Over the snow-glazed log
I viewed a hiking bog:
Dreary and cushioned is its touch;
Though, now I feel the wind caress my hair in a blizzard-like rush.

I come across a road of yellow and brick,
And hasten my speed for the Moon is conquering the Sun.
Beyond this path is a tiny cottage where a furnace fire has just sprung.

I’ve been far and gone since the New Year,
But I’m here to laugh, pray, eat, and maybe even shed the loose, happy tear.

Roaring flames and angelic dames,
Keep our hearts warm with cheer -
While we stuff ourselves with the noble deer.

December, O December,
Let us forget taxes and woes
As we unwrap ribbons and bows.