WINTER SOLSTICE.

Smile a fleeting reminiscence to liquid birdsong

Warbling melodic sweet memory of days bright

Our long house is touched by cool low light

Store chamber held open corners exposed

Weak grey time measures out sustenance too.

A child’s eyes held by dazzle once a tree

Tincture of pine a stranger to our living space

Secrets wrapped in silver stars tied tight

Young eyes seek the gift promised dreams

Sharp excited on this our Christmas day.

Soon an account is reached a settling made

How many can stay living in this time so bleak

In the round we stake our cattle in village place

Take count  for slaughter in Yule’s time.

They sing haloed light, breath hot steam

Hymn sheets to the fore frost kissed chords

Carols so familiar a tug that’s deep within

A remnant of saturnalia’s discourse crude.

In meat, weak and strong ,feast dusk to dawn

Bind with precious vegetables seeds and nuts

In winter’s strict bite a half will starve and die

All will be thin to bone as spring’s eye opens.

At rectangular table the extended family

Gives all up to feast and annual babble

The grand ones on a temporary ticket

Sit forward faced as if guests at the wedding.

Feast well on pig and cow and nuts and grains

Our poisonous milk now miraculously changed

As cheeses and curds their sweetness lost

Now safe for us to eat, let milk feed our young.

Corporations set out their tables sparkling

lux lit luxury invades our living space

Tinsel deep it's lustre will not stay long

Toys ignored the television keeps our tryst.

Winter wills its way to dictate habitation

Humans and animals in domestic shackle.

No safe lay yet found in shelters way

Lack salt held flesh and dark stored grain

Need food enough to keep both us and them.

Beer and wines take feast on our dreams

Party games fade as chocolate’s sugar coddles

And to somnolence we go to reach our way

A gradual ending to an ancient day.

For now we feast on plentiful fare

Fur wrapped rare comfort and full

At our darkest time  with meat and fat

We’ll  hold until spring brings life.

So slumber fitful as living room drones

Our flesh in excess strains and pokes

Our advertised dreams to end on this note

A year till next we wend this way again.

©️david fry 18 th June 

 2018.