December

Country brook meanders; metallic cobalt streamer

Across meadow bereft of bracken, clover-bloom and dreamer

Blue-eyed autumn tarried with its pockets full of laughter

But Time with ease has emptied them into the ever-after

The gown of emerald velvet is trampled, tattered, forlorn

The hill wears quilted patchwork trimmed with frayed, forgotten corn

And where the breezes rolled, cajoled in summer’s dappled surf

The elements are somber as they tromp earth’s frozen turf

We shift from fall-fond passion, cinnabar and ginger wild  

For words like short-bread, holly, ring those bells and Christmas-child

And where the bronze leaf drifted garnishing each windowsill

It seems someone has sifted silver-song on ridge and rill

Still, country brook meanders in the color of the cloud

Before a stricken grandeur stills its shimmer in a shroud

And where the summer-shadow lingered long into the dusk

The afternoon is pushed and garnered by winds hurried, brusque

December rolls a carpet of farewell out to the brink

Of daylight gently dying on a skyline salmon-pink

December, in its debut is an argent lullaby

And even in its hello we can almost hear good-bye

© Janet Martin