Yuletide Spirit

Yuletide Spirit

I struggle on through drifted snow,
the forest looms ahead,
a short-cut through the thicket
may lead me safe to bed.

Darkness drops from lowering skies
these late December eves,
and gloom turns into blackness
beneath foreboding trees.

Brambles crunch and clutch chilled feet,
my path has petered out.
Turn left, go back, or forge ahead?
I’m shivering with doubt.

Then all at once, a gleam shines forth
where two brown trunks rise slanted.
I stumble to an open door
that’s wondrously enchanted.

I gaze into a vast, bright hall,
it's filled with dancing elves.
The air, perfumed with roasting meat,
resounds with tinkling bells.

Their master sports green holly boughs
and cheeks of berry red,
a beard of ice surrounds his face,
a crown adorns his head.

'Welcome weary traveler!'
the yuletide spirit cries.
'Stamp thy boots and doff thy cap,
a feast awaits inside!'

He leads me to long tables piled
with fruit and fresh baked bread,
rich soups and steamy puddings
complete the sumptuous spread.

Flaring torches ring the scene
and flickering above,
bright fireflies and darting sprites
play tag with turtledoves.

I shed my coat most eagerly
and warm myself with ale.
The marvels of this winter night
will fill a dozen tales!

Author's note: ▼

These forty lines, hastily scrawled and barely legible, are the final entry in a traveler’s pocket journal. The unfortunate author went missing from the Dew Drop Inn and was discovered several days later by a group of woodcutters. He was found sitting on a mossy log with his coat off and his arms raised up as though sitting at table. The most striking feature of the eerie scene, however, was the joyous, radiant smile that still lit up his frozen face.

(Entered in the December 2021 round of Magic Poetry Contest )