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Poetry from within
   

PALE WINTER SUN




The rain had stopped.



Its incessant drumming



Now a dull memory



As the low winter sun



Cut through the dark grey clouds



And lit the lingering mist





It wasnít warm.



A cooling wind still blew



Moving the piles of leaves



First this way and then, that



Yet still I blessed the warmth



Of that pale winter sun





I felt revived



And journeyed on



Past the dancing shafts of light



That filtered through the trees



And at the forestís edge



I found my Christmas tree





I cut it down



Glad that it had not snowed



Its weight on my shoulder



Did not trouble me



I turned to head for home



And its welcome fireside glow





On Christmas day



We were gathered Ďround the tree



Which glowed with tinsel and lights



It seemed to stand so proud



Sharing this special time with us



And happy that I had brought it in



From the light of the pale winter sun






Don Holmes