That summer perfume melds with the rising air,
a redolent scent of past seasons,
and the heat of day lingers, shimmering,
not a whisper of breath in giving,
just the drone of cicadas
and my blackbird singing.
Outside my serene home, my seclusion,
the panic of pre-Christmas robs the silence,
and people are grumpy, in a hurry,
impatience at the edge of rage,
in cars and in shops,
fed up with still lots to be done.
In hibernation I, locked in my sanctuary,
keep a distance from all the fuss,
I hear not ‘Merry Christmas’, from shops,
just the ringing of registers,
in overtime and stressed out, the arbiters of spending.
The crowds are not my place,
and their stress not mine to take,
as happiness and love is my nurture,
and being amid the chaos my torture,
so I keep the faith at home, where no such thing avails.
‘Tis the season to be jolly,
but it’s hard to see it on the faces
of strung out souls time poor and sold,
vying for that Christmas of old,
when simplicity and thoughts were kind.
Just take three breaths,
remember what its all about,
and revel in the love and sharing
of a day for family, connection and thankfulness,
as simple as it should be.
Not money, not feast,
a simple smile and a hug for peace
is all we could want, for Christmas,
and may each home beneath the lights and tinsel,
rediscover what it all means, in sharing.
Tony DeLorger © 2017
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