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When the snow
is softly falling
is softly falling
on the trees and
gardens now so bare,
gardens now so bare,
i hear the ghosts
of memories calling
of memories calling
in the frigid winter air.
I look again at the big logs
merrily crackling in
the old fireplace,
the old fireplace,
cuddled down in the
soul caressing heat,
soul caressing heat,
i shall fear no harm from
the frigid winter night.
the frigid winter night.
Then, i'll grow
very lonesome,
very lonesome,
for all the dear friends
i used to know.
i used to know.
Dreams of old memories
will arise all about me,
will arise all about me,
tears will fill my aging eyes,
i shall be thinking of us all.
So, when the snow
outside is softly falling,
outside is softly falling,
and the icicles pallid
light reflects a glow,
light reflects a glow,
all the gray haired
ghosts of memories,
ghosts of memories,
will be sitting here with me,
until off to dreamland we all go.
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This work by mysticdave is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Well-said, Dave. Winter can be a time to draw into oneself, for reflection and memories.
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