Round hour of whistling sleet and snow
as night blew kisses to the blushful moon,
I tiptoe and slip across hustle and throng.
‘Love is fire’ he whispered in throbbing ear
I crave reticence as roars oh ruthless wind.
One last candle burning low, all the sleepy
dancers gone. Just one candle burning on,
shadows lurking everywhere. “Mistletoe!”
He beamed as though a budding rose.
And so, night ends on a psychedelic note,
As languor transforms to rapturous bliss;
As winter stooped to give summer a kiss.
Photo credits: Abstract Wallpapers
Lines borrowed from the poem Mistletoe by Walter De La Mare.
Posted for Christmas Collaboration @ Real Toads