A Holiday Ode

Beneath the frost-laced air of evening calm,

Lanterns gleam like suspended fireflies,

And laughter tumbles from doorways aglow,

The world swathed in scarves of cinnamon and pine,

Each heartbeat a note in a swelling hymn.

The city hums in a rhythm all its own,

Windows wear garlands, streets shine like rivers.

Yet amidst the rush, an older voice lingers,

Carried in the stillness between chimes—

A call to pause, to see the quiet light.

The Volta comes in the flicker of a flame,

A candle lit by hands weathered and kind.

Gratitude spills, unmeasured, uncontained—

Not for gold, nor for wishes granted,

But for the touch of what lingers unseen.

For the friend found beneath a distant star,

For the peace woven through a weary soul,

For the simplest joy, given without asking,

And for the memory of warmth shared

On a cold and boundless winter’s eve.