It is coming
Thick comfort in wool
And create the darkness,
My chocolate in a cup
Children for snowflakes
Child guerrillas protesting
Summer’s wane, rejoicing in the
Brilliant glare,
The soft kiss on cheekbones,
Piercing glare in daylight
A perfection of noon
It is coming
Red and green
The bells of the sleigh
And somehow I hear it,
Over gusts of wind that should
Obfuscate,
Over the silence that means night
Over starlight
And nothing
It is coming
Shhhhh . . . . Christmas is drawing near

(yes, dear reader, I know it's August . . . (shrug) oh well ;-)