When the apple logs are burning
one evening in this chilly November.
The crackling of the fire glows
with the rosy crimson ember.
The chestnuts sit proudly
Their chocolate coloured skin roasting
next to the bread, freshly baked
caramalising the sugars, toasting.
It is your ultimate wish
Your craving, your desire
to sit warming your little frozen toes
by the amber spitting fire.
The cinnamon sticks warming
the nutmeg spice
makes your heart sing
along with your whiskey in ice.
Your blue eyes focus
on your cold, damp window
and your rosy cheeks smile
at the crisp blanket of snow.
A Robin chirps jealous at your warmth
Your cosy body snuggled
He wished he could be warm
in his nest cuddled
up to his very best
in her red fluffed up jacket
on her red ochre breast.
He has worms to collect
in his cold yellow beak.
He would do some moaning
if only he could speak.
But the smoke bellows in the chimney
The fire warms the air
The holly berry
as charming as a summer
red hot cherry
dangles brightening the snow.
It is November
Christmas is on its way.
And we have to trudge through the bush
the holly and the ivy make way
for the shoppers crush and rush.
And still the fire burns
with its red hot ember
as we march through the month
to a Christmas December.