“Twas the month before Christmas”

’Twas the month before Christmas, and all through the town  
November’s last embers came gently down;  
Shop windows were blinking with green, red, and gold,  
While hints of pine freshness rode whispers of cold.

The rooftops grew crowded with frost in the dawn,  
And the sidewalks wore scarves made of leaves nearly gone.  
The children all counted their wishes by night,  
And sketched out their hopes in the glow of the light.

The scent of warm cocoa began its slow creep  
From kitchens where laughter would shimmer and leap.  
A flurry of mail brought bright cards from afar,  
And trees stood expectant of baubles and stars.

The parents grew busy—soft planning, unseen—  
With ribbons and secrets and thoughts evergreen.  
Old carols awakened on driveways and phones,  
As neighbors strung garlands on fenceposts and stones.

Warm mittens were rescued from closets and bins,  
And candles grew tall as December begins.  
The spirit of giving swelled gently each day,  
As strangers exchanged friendly nods on their way.

The month before Christmas—a promise, a spark:  
A hush in the evening, a dream in the dark.  
The world seems to pause for a shimmering space,  
As kindness and wonder begin their slow race.

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