In passage through an autumn wood
The brook was heard to say
“Fallen leaves ride upon my back,
Christmas is on the way!”
A breeze in transit paused,
Aroused by curiosity,
“What is this thing called 'Christmas'?
Come now, it interests me!”
His chill breath stirred the water's face
But the brook just hurried on.
And so he asked the whispering grass,
But answer was there none.
Frustrated now, an angry breeze,
Impatient in his quest,
Became a blustering, gusty thing
That could not, would not rest.
“Where should I search?” he asked the mist,
“My question to resolve..?”
But his very breath denied reply,
At it's touch the mist dissolved.
Then,”Here, up here!” a sweet voice rang,
From the belfry of the church.
“I am a part of Christmas!
Will I not resolve your search?”
A berried bough of Mistletoe
Bent as the breeze past by,
“I am a part of Christmas!”
The trembling bough did sigh.
A Holly decked in bloodied beads,
The Ivy, Spruce and Yew,
In vanity, concerted plead
“We too! We too! We too!”
The breeze passed through them, each in turn,
A derisory cold embrace.
“Are you all there is to 'Christmas'?
And this cold and gloomy place?”
The brook had joined a dappled pool
'Neath a gnarled, arthritic oak.
With age old wisdom now the tree,
Through the gurgling water, spoke.
“ Indeed, my friends the holly,
The ivy, yew and spruce,
The church bell and the mistletoe
Have, as they say in truth,
All a place in Christmas,
Each, worthy, plays a role,
But all, when put together,
Do not make Christmas whole.
It takes Faith, Hope and Charity,
These do not grow wild.
Then add to these the magic
Found in the heart of a child!”
The breeze lay still amongst the ferns,
Seeming comatose.
While mischievous tentacles of mist
Through the moss clad trunks arose.
Then, a Dervish dance of crispy leaves,
And the restless breeze was gone.
But through the wood, a departing sigh,
“Merry Christmas, Everyone!”