MaureenO
Another Infidel
With this latest outage we had, I wanted to give this to my TB family right away in case we "fall down and go boom" again. Knock wood.
It's a Christmas poem I wrote a few years ago in New England when I was visiting family and the kids were going out caroling. When we all got back home to my aunt's house and after everyone was bathed and in bed, I sat upstairs and wrote this about what our night was like.
I really hope you enjoy it. It's what I would like to see life like every day, but the world I can't create in the real world, I CAN create with my pen. Welcome to that world of mine.
Love,
Maureen
Caroling on the Sound
The air was full this winter’s eve
of chirps and lively fables
that rang from angels’ voices
seated ‘round their dining tables.
Christmas faces bathed in golden
shades of candlelight
claimed this eve for caroling
and just for them tonight.
They bundled warm, their faces shined
as out their doors they went
to join each other joyfully
and all were Heaven sent.
The Sound was theirs this very night
their audience held bound
by cherubs’ chorus ringing out
for they within the Sound.
The lighter of the lamps had come
and hastened to his chore
to shed fair light upon the snows,
for angels need no more.
As Christmas angels all attest
the Baby needed song!
And young ones know how best to
bring this Christmas Eve along.
In woolen coats and knitted caps,
scarves and mittened hands
these angels warmed the frozen air.
The Baby understands.
They marched along from lamp to lamp,
snow crunching ‘neath their feet
addressing every golden pane
with carols soft and sweet.
Their lungs were filled with spicy air
that drifted from within
the kitchens laced with fumes
of apples baked with cinnamon.
And ‘round the Sound the children
sang with silver bells and horn,
this silent night and Holy night
the Baby has been born!
Their angel’s gift accomplished,
all the children in their beds;
the distant Baby nods in sleep
from songs the infants led.
But once again when Yuletide nears
with snow to white the ground
the angels will return to bring
their carols to the Sound.
And then again, the Babe will rest,
cuddled at His Mother’s breast
as would a Holy newborn King
for Hark! The herald angels sing…
It's a Christmas poem I wrote a few years ago in New England when I was visiting family and the kids were going out caroling. When we all got back home to my aunt's house and after everyone was bathed and in bed, I sat upstairs and wrote this about what our night was like.
I really hope you enjoy it. It's what I would like to see life like every day, but the world I can't create in the real world, I CAN create with my pen. Welcome to that world of mine.
Love,
Maureen
Caroling on the Sound
The air was full this winter’s eve
of chirps and lively fables
that rang from angels’ voices
seated ‘round their dining tables.
Christmas faces bathed in golden
shades of candlelight
claimed this eve for caroling
and just for them tonight.
They bundled warm, their faces shined
as out their doors they went
to join each other joyfully
and all were Heaven sent.
The Sound was theirs this very night
their audience held bound
by cherubs’ chorus ringing out
for they within the Sound.
The lighter of the lamps had come
and hastened to his chore
to shed fair light upon the snows,
for angels need no more.
As Christmas angels all attest
the Baby needed song!
And young ones know how best to
bring this Christmas Eve along.
In woolen coats and knitted caps,
scarves and mittened hands
these angels warmed the frozen air.
The Baby understands.
They marched along from lamp to lamp,
snow crunching ‘neath their feet
addressing every golden pane
with carols soft and sweet.
Their lungs were filled with spicy air
that drifted from within
the kitchens laced with fumes
of apples baked with cinnamon.
And ‘round the Sound the children
sang with silver bells and horn,
this silent night and Holy night
the Baby has been born!
Their angel’s gift accomplished,
all the children in their beds;
the distant Baby nods in sleep
from songs the infants led.
But once again when Yuletide nears
with snow to white the ground
the angels will return to bring
their carols to the Sound.
And then again, the Babe will rest,
cuddled at His Mother’s breast
as would a Holy newborn King
for Hark! The herald angels sing…
