wonder land

the jingle bells are all quiet
colored lights no longer flashing
clinging to rusted nails
watching winter and spring clashing
street walkers, neighbors
try not to point, heads shake
yet the urge to leave anonymous notes
culls the committed from half baked
still no matter the season
or what etiquette deems
joy bubbles like a fountain
in this cul-de-sac of dreams
Frosty a lone sentinel
half hidden by uncut St Augustine
the savior of forget-me-nots
defies manicured schemes
the once fresh cut pine wreath
lies slumped against the front door
dry brittle and brown
job fulfilled now absorbed by days of yore
and yet winter back doors spring
it’s white blanket accumulates
both growers and showers
embraced as pawns of shrink-mate
carols of old the silent backdrop
moldy cookies on a plate regenerate
toeless socks hang damp
spirts with-in bottles congregate
blasts of north wind
hurry the frozen precip
blackeyed susans and sunflowers
share a shivered nip
but no jolly man appears
no prancing and pawing
the only thing Rudolphs mounting
is when the ruts a calling
yet an ember of love burns here
in the soul of all things
simply because
they believe