On the Rim of the World
by Kathryn de Winter-Hart
On the rim of the world, just before you fall into night.
So close to Polaris you can feel the warmth of its light.
There’s a northern ice kingdom where winter reigns supreme
Snuggly tucked like a child in the corner of a dream.
Where Jack Frost dances with winds to etch his newest design
He tumbles, he cartwheels, he whirls through a forest of pine.
And, like sugar plums, he frosts them in an icing of white.
They glisten in moon glow to this confectioner’s delight.
One tree is taller and seems to peek above all the rest.
It’s rather full and well-shaped and by far it’s the best.
Its needles have made a soft cushion for the sleeping doe
And its branches have sheltered the birds from many a foe.
Home to all creatures, it is quite content to be a tree.
Yet God smiles and whispers – “I give you immortality”
Deep in the forest two woodcutters, the very next day
Fell it and unceremoniously drag it away.
A silence quickly descends upon all – what could this mean
They had hoped their friend would always be there – always be green.
For days the forest is the scene of discontent and unrest
While rabbits search for other holes and birds rebuild their nests.
Several deer nervously prance by this newly vacant space
As the falling snow moves quickly to cover every trace
That here a magnificent pine had once reached toward the sky
But now – the promise broken – like all things it, too, must die!
In a clearing not far away is the woodworker’s shop
In the corner of the room stacks of wood the cutters chop.
An elfin figure carves and shapes with a very deft blade
The floor is covered thick now with the sawdust of his trade.
He hums along with his tools as they whistle, and they whine
As he whittles at the grain of this lovely piece of pine.
As he works the piece takes form - like a magician at play
He gently coaxes from his wood pile an enchanted sleigh.
Its lines exact to allow the miracle of flight
Its form must be perfection as it streaks through the night
Its runners, too, are wood but highly polished so they glide
Across the rooftops for this once-a-year glorious ride.
Each blade is straight then turns three times before reaching its tip
It cuts the snow curving upwards now, ready for the trip.
Powered by a team of eight – faithful servants everyone.
They serve their Master well in the forever years to come.
Their harness straps are decorated with shiny golden bells
As they fill the air with ringing - what a story this sleigh tells.
If you travel due North to a region very far
So close to the night you almost touch the Northern Star.
There’s a world of snow and wonder that really does exist
In the hope and the excitement of every Christmas wish.
Where elves believe in miracles, they are very much the norm
And know that love will shelter them from the bitter cold and storm.
Deep in the forest where once stood a towering tree
Now stands a sleigh filled with love – its promised legacy.
Even the smallest creature in that wonderful land
Learns that faith is to believe when you can’t understand.
So, when Christmas time draws near, and your heart begins to swell.
Close your eyes tight, lie very still, and listen for the bell.
by Kathryn de Winter-Hart
On the rim of the world, just before you fall into night.
So close to Polaris you can feel the warmth of its light.
There’s a northern ice kingdom where winter reigns supreme
Snuggly tucked like a child in the corner of a dream.
Where Jack Frost dances with winds to etch his newest design
He tumbles, he cartwheels, he whirls through a forest of pine.
And, like sugar plums, he frosts them in an icing of white.
They glisten in moon glow to this confectioner’s delight.
One tree is taller and seems to peek above all the rest.
It’s rather full and well-shaped and by far it’s the best.
Its needles have made a soft cushion for the sleeping doe
And its branches have sheltered the birds from many a foe.
Home to all creatures, it is quite content to be a tree.
Yet God smiles and whispers – “I give you immortality”
Deep in the forest two woodcutters, the very next day
Fell it and unceremoniously drag it away.
A silence quickly descends upon all – what could this mean
They had hoped their friend would always be there – always be green.
For days the forest is the scene of discontent and unrest
While rabbits search for other holes and birds rebuild their nests.
Several deer nervously prance by this newly vacant space
As the falling snow moves quickly to cover every trace
That here a magnificent pine had once reached toward the sky
But now – the promise broken – like all things it, too, must die!
In a clearing not far away is the woodworker’s shop
In the corner of the room stacks of wood the cutters chop.
An elfin figure carves and shapes with a very deft blade
The floor is covered thick now with the sawdust of his trade.
He hums along with his tools as they whistle, and they whine
As he whittles at the grain of this lovely piece of pine.
As he works the piece takes form - like a magician at play
He gently coaxes from his wood pile an enchanted sleigh.
Its lines exact to allow the miracle of flight
Its form must be perfection as it streaks through the night
Its runners, too, are wood but highly polished so they glide
Across the rooftops for this once-a-year glorious ride.
Each blade is straight then turns three times before reaching its tip
It cuts the snow curving upwards now, ready for the trip.
Powered by a team of eight – faithful servants everyone.
They serve their Master well in the forever years to come.
Their harness straps are decorated with shiny golden bells
As they fill the air with ringing - what a story this sleigh tells.
If you travel due North to a region very far
So close to the night you almost touch the Northern Star.
There’s a world of snow and wonder that really does exist
In the hope and the excitement of every Christmas wish.
Where elves believe in miracles, they are very much the norm
And know that love will shelter them from the bitter cold and storm.
Deep in the forest where once stood a towering tree
Now stands a sleigh filled with love – its promised legacy.
Even the smallest creature in that wonderful land
Learns that faith is to believe when you can’t understand.
So, when Christmas time draws near, and your heart begins to swell.
Close your eyes tight, lie very still, and listen for the bell.
The Whimsical Weed
The roses and the hollyhocks grow reaching for the sky.
But I’m content to grow below, just a little weed, am I.
I’m watered and I’m fed with all the Royal garden guests
And marvel at their beauty, for I’m growing with the best.
A weed amongst the Royals? Well one couldn’t ask for more.
Though the Mistress of my garden disagrees with me, I’m sure.
I see that look upon her face, and when she shakes her head
I wonder if today’s the day she plucks me from my bed.
Why I flourish in torrential rains and in the summer’s heat
I neither wilt nor wither, growing there beneath her feet.
Unlike the Royal guests that frown and droop their regal heads,
If someone doesn’t water me, you’ll never find me dead.
So dream about your garden and the joy that it will bring
To all the many flowers that await the birth of Spring
All nestled there together in that bed of harmony
You’ll find the roses and the hollyhocks and a little weed....that’s me!
......Catherine J. Burch