Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Dec 2013
Her name was Holiday. 

She smelled of pine,

and her eyes,

Glistened like the snow and ice 

That blankets the lanes

keeping the families stuck inside. 

Her voice was angel,

And she sang songs that only

Angels could hear. 

She told stories that only taught

Families what it really meant to be a 


And what it really meant to give and 

Be grateful. 

Her hands were soft.

Her stature, so much grace. 

She had a way with warming up 

The cold

Like mittens you give to children

Or at least that’s what we’re told

In the fairy tales
that we will tell 

Our children before bed

On those December nights

When the cold freezes over the windows,

But the wood stove is

Still roasting.
Shanon Lee
Written by
Shanon Lee
Please log in to view and add comments on poems