Cannot tell you how many versions of a Christmas poem I tried to pen this year. All to no avail.
With the sudden loss of my mom in November, and the even more sudden loss of my 55yo cousin (and dear friend) a few weeks ago, I am sure you will forgive me if I am not exactly feeling the Christmas sprit this year.
That said, I am madly in love with this little wintry poem. Not much to it, but hopefully it speaks volumes to you, as it did to me.
Feel free to share your thoughts/feelings with me in the Comments section below… or on Twitter or Facebook.
Wishing you and your families a peaceful and happy holidays!
-PS Conway ☘ ☘ ☘
☘ ☘ ☘ ☘ ☘
in the firn
the ancient oak, vast shoulders slunched,
grouses deep, burdened by the weight
pens a journal evanescent
etched by branchly tendrils in the firn
all it has learned, a circle pure,
recalls the fae, their love for the forest,
remembers the Christ, who died on a tree.