Warming Hearth Poem by Howard Johnson

I love to see the old hearth
It has always been dear to me
Blackened from fire that have been
Let go
Crimpled leaves from the seasons end
Of dying needleless trees
Oft in the corner a pine stood proud
Lights, tinsel, and precarious strange
Sentimental things
Hang from strings
Outside darkens
A ravin fly to roost
Tradition walks through a portal
In winters tune
The blend of a dead season
And living presence
Waiting in the lonely moment
A faint whisper is told
Sorrow sleeps
Minds wake
For Christmas to arrive!