The night wind whispers gently,

My thoughts skitter,

And slide,

On the frozen pavement before me,

As if I am kicking a pebble,

But I am not.

 

The full moon aching,

Stark and vivid,

In the clear freezing air,

Of midnight,

While colored lights,

Litter with indulgence,

The well built houses.

 

Old Man Winter,

Is heard muttering to himself,

Outside of town,

Where the road grows thin,

And the pine grove is thick.

 

My tread is silent,

On the man made earth,

Blending with the soft movement,

Of night,

Not even the cat,

Hunting in the brush,

Heard me coming.

 

Returning to warmth,

The smiles and laughter,

Life that drowns out,

That silence,

Still it echoes,

Upon the walls of my heart,

Amidst the pomp and charm.

 

Open window,

As sleep beckons,

Softly bearing,

The whispers of wind,

Lift me gently,

Set me adrift,

Upon the shores of dream.

 

Where wayward wandering,

On pathways unwritten,

Will tease my pen,

Flavoring the coffee,

Of tomorrow’s dawn.