A crust stuffed with the fruit of seasons past,
And the hearth roars with warmth ablaze.
Little ones huddled in blankets have grown so fast,
The love gathered nigh never ceases to amaze.
Today births desire for rollick, always.

Go, go, go… the steam pot whistles,
Red-white canes sweetly duels with our hunger.
I patiently await my kiss, beneath the entrance thistles.
Joy and motion, our humble home laughs like thunder.
May we devour tales, tunes and turkey everyday? That I wonder.

-S.A. Manful

Festive