Whispers of December

The winds of December arrive like an artist’s sigh,

Painting the canvas of dawn with a frosted sky.

Bare branches hold secrets of seasons past,

As the world embraces winter’s chill at last.

The sun, a timid guest in the morning haze,

Lends golden whispers to shorten days.

Snowflakes gather, delicate and shy,

Each a fleeting star from a frozen sky.

The town awakens, a hush in the air,

Children’s laughter, a melody rare.

Scarves and mittens, vibrant and warm,

Guard against nature’s icy charm.

On cobblestone streets, the baker’s light glows,

The scent of cinnamon in gentle rows.

Windows adorned with wreaths and cheer,

Tell tales of a season drawing near.

A lone poet wanders, notebook in hand,

Capturing whispers of this winterland.

His words, like snowflakes, fall soft and light,

Each verse a tribute to the season’s delight.

By the frozen river, an old bench stands,

Witness to time’s ever-turning sands.

A couple sits there, their hands entwined,

Sharing stories of love, their hearts aligned.

The clocktower chimes, a melancholic tune,

Under the watchful gaze of a silver moon.

Stars gather like friends in a velvet sky,

Guiding travelers with their twinkling eye.

December hums its ancient song,

A reminder of where we all belong.

In the hearth’s warm glow, in the frosted air,

In the laughter we share and the love we bear.

So as this month unfolds its wintry grace,

Let its magic linger, time cannot erase.

For December whispers, in a voice so deep,

That in its arms, memories forever keep.