Poetry

Of Gathering

If you close your eyes

And breathe in deep

You can smell the coming Snow

I swear

Like crisp of night

And Autumn leaves

Impending bitter Cold

Is there

Waiting for

A place to be

A place to settle

And Belong

Longing more

For love Unseen

The frigid, gentle

Joy prolong

Of Gathering –

Ten million friends

And family

And frost and freeze

And called to being

Hand-carved men

Of Fantasy

And childhood dreams

Of laden hills

And snowball tag

And Angels born

Of earthbound flight

The evening chills

And tree branch sag

And cocoa warm

And Starless sky

Oh, close your eyes

And breathe in deep

And smell the coming snow.

I swear

In cold of night

As Autumn leaves –

A Memory of home

Is there

 

©2018 Sarah Elizabeth Moore, All Rights Reserved

 

From the shores of Wicket Lake,

sem

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