On Winter’s Edge


Writing Christmas cards in the tea’s warm glow,
To the choir’s soft sounds,
As silent flakes fall outside the window,
Illuminated and dancing in the light.

Spirits fly in synchrony,
Making peace with what has been.
Fearing not the future,
They look forward with confidence, with joy.

“Must buy strings, record the songs,” he writes,
A newfound sense of urgency at the fore.
To express one’s heart fully while one lives…
What could stake a higher claim?

The game of hide and seek is underway
Birth and death and birth again, for as long as sentience remains.
“No fear,” said the mesmerizing voice…that voice may fall silent,
But those under its spell soar on.

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