The Season

 

The cradle seems closer somehow.

The star, his face, his smile more radiant

as the first snow covers the rooftops.

He becomes each child ‒

who utters magical peals of laughter.

 

A child so far away, so long ago,

a fairy tale ‒

to rouse in me such innocent longing.

What mystical potency do these stories hold

to cast such a spell this time each year?

 

I almost believe.

I almost feel a power ‒

a spirit stirs within me.

My soul feels more accepting;

my eyes perceive life as more precious ‒

How long can such enchantment linger?

 

 

©Katalin Kennedy

From my third book – Echoes of Footsteps