Ghosts of Winters Past

 

Ghosts of Winters Past

The morning breaks, fire’s going,

excitement builds, for it’s snowing,

shovels readied to dig us out,

while snow is falling all about.

A picture-perfect Christmas card,

the winter scene that was our yard,

a country home all painted red,

on snow white canvas was our stead.

Our lives enriched by falling snow,

in Ayer’s Cliff, not long ago,

with Rita’s ghost who came along,

her conscious essence, warm and strong,

Pleasant smiles, and little feet,

with woodstove stoked, providing heat,

outside, our feeders, gathered birds,

their song of thanks, beyond our words.

On shoveled paths, the ice rink made,

with footprints where the children played,

tall snow forts built, and tunnels dug,

with laughter, snowmen, Frosty's mug.

Reminds me of my childhood time,

these snowstorms from our winter clime,

goes back to all the things we did,

the winters when I was a kid.

Like hockey games played on the rink,

till bodies froze and couldn’t think,

stayed out all day till we were told,

to come inside from winters cold.

Where snow suits hats and gloves were dried,

our clothing changed and re-supplied,

cocoa made to help refuel,

for toboggan runs at the school.

But in this little town ago,

old traditions still held in tow,

an evening’s ride, all bundled up,

a family outing after sup.

Horse and cutter trots down the street,

with jingle bells on neck and feet,

a soothing canter, gracious glide,

an awesome force in heartful pride.

Evening settles, our house aglow,

roof and ground all covered in snow,

all snug inside when sun goes down,

these precious mem‘ries from my town.

------------------------------------------