Yuletide chestnuts roasting on an open fire,
Crisp air frigid, yet fiery in glee.
Joyous murmurs above all cacophonous in sentiment.
Like the touch of love once had,
Like the desire and temptation of romance once felt,
Like the passion of winters past,
Not lost but gone,
Cold yet so close.
A tear, A chestnut, A gift,
But a far now, lost in winter last.
I mourn the winters of past
I mourn the winter present,
I mourn the winters of future.
Benign yet malignant,
Desirous yet malignant,
Gleeful yet solemn.
Undoubted I crave the winter of past’s delight.
But mourn the winter’s cold,
Fragile and solemn,
In sacred sanctimony and mournful highlight