Winter Solstice Poem by Mary Champion

This is the day that the old year ceases.
For centuries, in their snow-covered world,
the people would gather to sing and dance
with rituals to drive the dark away.

Their homes would be bedecked with evergreens.
Lighted candles cheered the winter gloom.
Lit fires in fear the warmth was gone for good,
but in the morning, when the sun still rose,
their chorus of delight extolled the dawn.

And, if you listen well this fateful time,
you will hear the echo of their voices
through the frosty ages still resounding
and surely feel your spirits lifted too.

This is the shortest day -the turning point -
promising that Spring is sure to follow,
The waxing sun will warm the sleeping land
preparing for the summer's ample harvest.

And so, they carolled merrily and feasted,
praising Mother Nature's cycling seasons.
They grasped the gift of hope she had bestowed -
another Yule acclaimed with wassailing.