Distant Voices
Bare trees, white hills, and snow,
a flake or two blown from a drift
beside the road, a moon riding high,
cold. Winter floats a foggy breath
in curls of smoke that cling to roofs,
hang low, then join a cloud
with sparks borne upon an updraft.
Windows glow. In side, the family sits,
heads bent over books, puzzles,
in quiet companionship. There is no sound
except the shift of logs, a ticking clock.
The house is beating like a heart.
Christmas descends with white wings,
the scene of apples and evergreens,
and above the house in darkest night
the milky foam of stars.
Sue Scalf
May Christmas bring you love and health and may the New Year lie before you
like untrodden snow, a canvas for dreams to fill. Sue
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