Tuesday, December 10, 2019

Christmas Poems


Solstice
the sunstruck red
of unpicked apples

A plastic creche
to hold some straw
and the Son of God

Cold
after a year in the attic
these gold and silver baubles

Behind the door
behind the wreath
cookies still warm

Snowflakes falling
on my head and on yours . . .
we are not strangers

     c.p.