Sunday, January 11, 2004

The Cricket Box

A Southern Christmas Poem

Cool as bunny paws in a winter's snow
old as a horn that missed its cue
the old cricket box sat
kissed by midnight
until its brassy sheen
had grown to a darkened hue.

It sang a song of winters long ago
of innocent young maidens
and their courting beaus.
It sang of cold winter nights
by the kernel spitting hearth
as it soaked the warmth like a sponge.

Oh, for days gone by
for winter nights, for winking eyes
for crescent moons and twinkling stars in the skies,
for frozen ponds and taffy pulls
and laughter in the air.
for days gone by.

For Christmas nights under a harvest moon
and front porch swings and swarm
carolers singing to a cricket's tune.
for city folk that yearn with passion plea...
that again shall come that feeling of
Christmas country,
with mint fresh air
and swirling snowflakes everywhere
as yuletide fall
with cricket call
oh cricket box.

Copyright 2004 by Phyllis Johnson.
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry 360 with permission of the author.

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