December what a cruel month you can be
and so deceiving.
Tears remain hidden behind presents and bows
advent calendars are opened -
and disguise the woes.

The lonely barren trees
will cast the most magnificent of shadows
despite yearning for the warmer fruitful months
to be upon them.

His cri de coeur was not as clandestine
as he thought
and his solitude was louder than the barren trees
screaming and wailing it called to me.
There I stood
on the coldest day
and with no uncertainty of what he needed to see -
I told him:
Nor I, nor you, can be defeated by the winter months
for the most magic moments are often defined in the cold
and now we were old -
infinitely enamoured by what we had discovered.

The promise of the burning sun -
you never stop to shine,
even in
December.
Your rays are sublime
how
blinding this light,
this light of mine.
It is within me
and all of us
combined.