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As a writer, I have folders
of unfinished stories and works shoved into folders, hidden from my eyes and
conscience. Many pieces need a new direction, some may need corrections and
rewrites, a few may need a trip to the trash can.
In my search through these
fat folders marked, save, I found a
poem I wrote for Christmas over a century ago. What I wanted to do with it, or even
why I wrote it, is buried somewhere at the bottom of an informational dump in
my brain. It’s a Christmas poem and seems
appropriate for December.
The Humble Pines
'Twas daybreak in the forest,
the winds blew crisp and cold.
And snow lay in a white-washed 'guise
on oak trees, staunch and old.
The sky was slate. The drifts, knee-deep,
as snowflakes fluttered down.
While high above, the hemlock sighed
a faint melodious sound.
Across the vale a shaft of light
broke through the frigid morn,
And scattered rays of hope and love...
Today, the Child was born.
Then firethorn threw shimmering beads
amid the sun-kissed laurel.
Bright holly bushes shook their limbs
with shades of red and coral.
And in these woods where nature reigned,
where peace and ice abound,
The stately pines all bent their heads
and bowed their branches down.
In these trying times let’s all send out a humble wish:
“Let there be peace on earth…and let it begin with us.”
For some heartwarming reading during the holiday season,
please check out my "Musical Christmas Series"
