Winter Poem
It is early winter
Autumn has flounced away
For another year
In a swirl of red leaves
And perfumed apples
Each day the daylight
Shrinks by minutes
Hostage to the ecliptic
Waiting for the solstice
The forest memories of Yule
Still pulse beneath the
Egregious telly feast of
Crimbo
Wolfdark mosshushed groves
Shelter the nameless
Ancestors who wait for the
Priest king to wake the sun
The golden sickle strips
The mistletoe from the oak
And reaps a bloodier harvest
At the bluestone altar
Today the tribe stare
Transfixed by the flickering
Cathodic emanations
Traduced by false gods
The pine tree
Drops its needles
One
By
One
Autumn has flounced away
For another year
In a swirl of red leaves
And perfumed apples
Each day the daylight
Shrinks by minutes
Hostage to the ecliptic
Waiting for the solstice
The forest memories of Yule
Still pulse beneath the
Egregious telly feast of
Crimbo
Wolfdark mosshushed groves
Shelter the nameless
Ancestors who wait for the
Priest king to wake the sun
The golden sickle strips
The mistletoe from the oak
And reaps a bloodier harvest
At the bluestone altar
Today the tribe stare
Transfixed by the flickering
Cathodic emanations
Traduced by false gods
The pine tree
Drops its needles
One
By
One
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