The Frozen Blaze

The pale moonlight falls on the land,
The shining blade streams down like a blue sun,
Through the curtains of heaven
That shimmer the same ghostly blue.

It lights the cracked hills with a frosty flame,
Warms the fallen leaves with a frozen radiance,
Sweeps the long dirt paths with a thin white dust,
And falls on the little town below.

The red and green lights push away the numbing cold,
Welcome all comers,
Promise a little comfort for a freezing traveler,
A little food for a starving beggar.

Woven through the boughs of the wax-leafed trees,
A moment with friends,
Gathered around an orange hearth,
Glowing with true warmth,

The bright firelight shines onto the cobblestone streets
That a man staggers down
And knocks weakly on a door.
“Merry Christmas,” he says.
“To you, too, but don’t just stand there, come in.”

And the moonlight keeps falling on the land.