The wind outside begins to wail,
a snowstorm rattles roof and rail.
But here within, all calm and clear,
I sit beside the fire’s cheer.
My beagle curls up at my feet,
his steady breath, a rhythmic beat.
The flames dance low in amber light,
against the hush of winter’s night.
With A Christmas Carol in my hand,
I drift through Scrooge’s ghostly land -
past Marley’s chains and Tiny Tim,
each page a world, both bright and grim.
Outside, the world is lost in white,
but in this room, the heart feels light.
No finer joy could I have planned
than Dickens read with warmth at hand.
The dining room, my quiet throne,
a place that’s mine, and mine alone -
at Southern and Kenosha’s bend,
where stories start and worries end.
Let others chase the busy day;
I’ll let the snowflakes have their say.
For here I find my truest peace -
a book, a fire, a soul at ease.
GBS
2017
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