Christmas Market Poem by Micron Jan

Wandering, I drift through the market square,
Cobblestones humming beneath winter boots,
Stalls stitched together with garlands and steam,
The air thick with sugar, spice, and cheer.

Sausages sizzle, fat popping like laughter,
Pretzels hang heavy, dusted with salt and snow,
A paper cone of roasted almonds warms my palms,
Sweet smoke curling into the night.

Above us, Christmas lights spill gold and red,
Stars caught on strings, trembling in the cold,
Windows glow like promises kept,
Each one whispering stay a little longer.

A brass band gathers near the fountain,
Trumpets bright as the breath in the air,
Voices rise—clear, steady, kind—
Carols unfolding like well-known stories.

People sway without thinking,
Mugs of mulled wine pressed close to hearts,
Strangers smile as if we've always known each other,
As if this warmth belongs to everyone.

And in that small, shining moment—
Hands warmed, songs shared, night held at bay—
The world feels gentle,
And winter, somehow, feels like home.