On a cold December night,
by the Oleander
I lie in my bed,
prepared for a slumber.
Engulfed in my Blanket,
smelling the timber,
Memories start tumbling,
of days gone yonder.
I listen to the splutter,
of the burning Embers,
As fog dimmed moonlight,
surrounds me tender.
Wind blows in muffled sounds,
from a distant choir chamber,
And I snuggle and surrender,
to a Delightful December.
great ruchu
ReplyDelete