clouds of chamomile
and locks of lion's mane
sleeping in silence
with his biblical name
his lips as soft as snowflakes
he's my night-time in forever
he asks me when i'm waking
never, ever, ever

There's a tale of a child
born into the snow
to two months prior
of January's glow
firstly honored by
only his Grandfather's name
tainted by his last
and his Father's game
A hidden tear falls
from a tree in November
but lands so quickly
that he can barely remember

you know that
when we are folded
well into the night
your arms
and your body
are like the warmth of a summer
long overdue
but after a lifetime of winter
i did not know
that even in the winter
the sun
was here all along

On December 25th
there's a silence in your head
Memories of me distant
and by summer will be dead

You will see my face in lights
that dangle in the street
But the winter sings a lone song
with the snow around your feet

The scent of Christmas wakens
every fibre of your being
And I'll be the long forgotten gift
that you will not be seeing