For My December

Let love's green phrases
Return an April crocus
To tip its sun-cup.

Christmas Pastoral

No artist stitched with a frosted thread
The night for the Magi who journeyed far,
Nor decked the shepherds with snow ... Instead
Were lilied-hillsides with overhead
A cradle moon and a moving Star.

December Violets

Love does not wait till blue wings flash

To bid the heart to sing;

Till fluting larks and swelling buds

Announce the proof of spring.

Love knows no season boundaries,

Gives lilacs in November

And gathers April violets

In crystal-cold December.

Winter Carolers

The old Black Willow is a singing harp

With blackbirds strumming on its fragile strings.

December's moaning winds are drear and sharp

Yet symphonies bring cheer that echoing rings

On frosty air. I love these carolers

That make a lilting spring of winter days:

A hopeful prophecy; each throat avers

That life is sleeping. August sunset-rays

In spread wings give the joy of warning skies.

I love these melodies! They bring to me

My childhood hours, my father's youthful eyes.

He loved them as I do. In memory

We listen to their songs. He often said,

"These warblers bring us hope when spring has fled."

In My Winter Garden

She was little and wrinkled
And her hair was white
As the snow at her feet,
But her eyes were bright
As Black-eyed Susans--
With butterflies flitting--.
She spoke: nymphs of joy
Pirouetted, outwitting
The coldness of winter.
She said with a smile,
"How lovely that summer
Is resting awhile
Beneath all this beauty
White-sculptured in snow!"--
Now, in my winter garden
Black-eyed Susans grow.

Hon. Men. in Archer "People in Winter" Contest