Sanguine

Blessed Yule.

Solstice fires burn bright as newborn stars
shedding warmth where frost-wolf's icy breath
silvers streams, kisses each leafless branch,
making the eternal mother yield.
Frosted buds glitter like frozen tears
as nature mourns the mother's little death;
dark demons spread a heavy shroud to blanch
colour from the woodland, heath and field.

But of each thing a little spark, preserved
and tended by the ones who serve the flame
survives to light embryo season's birth,
'til life returns one more, vibrant and green.
Reaching higher each day the pale sun curves,
not strong enough to set the sky aflame.
So while nature languishes in dearth,
this darkest night the solstice fires burn.

Solstice Fires by Ian R. Thorpe.