Sweet laughter waltzes around
the fires, the warmth of hearths
inviting darkness to sleep. Quiet
traces of foolishness calmly
shroud the night air, hazy smoke
arising from the embers. Singing
and dancing in sanctified light, the
tall oak trees whisper stories to
withered leaves, the vines carefully
sheltering innocent buds from boorish
chaos.
Shadows dance to time’s youth, their
pendulums swinging to the beats of
tambourines and drums, warm drinks
along the fray. Music abounds, with
fresh basil hanging from the
windows. The feast is here, and the
winter storm fiercely blows.
Ivory towers, through the wood,
castles from afar,
kings and queens and
knights and princesses,
with a dragon,
waiting to be slain;
But won’t you stay,
and play,
for just a little
while?