The wind carries soft whispers
that winter has preserves for me.
The morning sun opens its eyes,
Rays struggle to see through the fog.
The snow continues to prepare
for the sledge, that shall prick
the heart to deliver the bounty
for the eyes that wait here.
Small eyes begin to shine again;
It's time to hold your dreams
and harbor hopes. The divine courier
is never too busy.
Before opening the wrap, I Shall
ask my questions, if I'm permitted
time. I've Heard the queue is
getting longer by the day.
A lighted tree echoes with smiles
as expectation takes birth. The mind
searches through the stacked
wants and desires.
A beam opens thought into points
where no sunlight reaches.
A thousand splendid suns illuminate
spirit's dark alleys.
14th December 2009
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.