I don’t write poems very often, but I just came across one I wrote about three years ago that I thought I’d share here. I wrote it curled up on the couch along the big bay window of our old house, watching a very ordinary neighborhood on an ordinary winter night, but it felt special to me. I like this poem because it articulates the peace and stillness that I love about winter, especially in these days leading up to Christmas. The photo, totally unrelated, is of me in New York City two Decembers ago. I just thought it fit the festive theme, and evokes similar emotions. Anyway, here’s the poem…
by Beth Morris
There is rest in beauty on a silent night, not a stirring in my soul.
There’s a delicate touch to tree branches and such, a stillness to the cold.
As lights flicker on with a remnant of dawn, I’m delighted the night’s just begun.
Renewal is mine should I just keep in mind – never rush the rebirth of the sun.
Greys and blues with a glimmer of gold absent stars are the fabric of night’s curtain call.
Hurried walkers pass by, fight a chill in the air, that marks the departure of fall.
‘Tis the eve before eve before Christmas – what a whimsical gift to embrace.
Could there be one thing missing at all it would be but to gaze into God’ perfect face.
So clear and so bright even though it is night, barren trees’ silhouettes standing guard.
As though nothing can harm such a seamless display of simplicity, comfort and charm.
Subtle pinpricks of light, green, yellow and white, illuminate home after home.
Blurring time, easing minds, freeing hearts to believe all at once – maybe we’re not alone.
Blackness bleeds over clouds as the sunset allows for a slumber to transfix the air.
It is then I surrender to the mystery of winter and decide I’m content just to stare.