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Jingle bells ring through crisp white snow,
Our sleigh rides swift and light,
The horse hooves pound a steady rhythm,
As we bundle up in fur.
The winter wind it nips our nose,
But warmth comes from within,
When shared with friends and loved ones dear,
The cold cannot begin.
The desert wind whispers through the canyons,
Where ancient spirits roam,
The red rocks stand like guardians,
Protecting sacred home.
The tumbleweed rolls past abandoned towns,
Where ghosts still tell their tales,
Of pioneers who sought their fortune,
On winding desert trails.
I tend the light that guides the ships,
Through fog and storm and night,
My solitary watch begins,
When darkness brings its blight.
The beam sweeps far across the waves,
Where sailors trust my ray,
To bring them safely to the shore,
At end of ocean's way.
The crocuses push through the snow,
A promise of warm days,
The robin builds her nest anew,
In tree branches raised in praise.
The streams run high with snowmelt fresh,
The meadows wake from sleep,
Springtime brings new life again,
And promises to keep.
The old red barn stands tall and proud,
Its weathervane spins slow,
The hayloft holds a century's worth,
Of harvest long ago.
The paint peels but the bones are strong,
Like memories that last,
A weathered barn on farmland wide,
Holds shadows of the past.
Beyond the waves where horizons meet,
My thoughts drift out to sea,
To distant shores where you might walk,
And wonder still of me.
The salt air carries prayers and dreams,
That travel far and wide,
To shores unknown across the deep,
Where love and hope reside.
Under the moonlight I sing to you,
A melody soft and sweet,
The stars above bear witness true,
To love that feels so complete.
Your silver light illuminates,
The path that we both tread,
A moonlight serenade from me,
To the one I cherish instead.
The prairie stretches endless wide,
Beneath a burning sky,
Where cattle graze on grass so green,
And cowboys sit nearby.
The sun descends in orange blaze,
A sight both vast and grand,
The prairie holds its breath awhile,
As stars begin to expand.
Summer days of endless play,
Bare feet on warm soil brown,
The sprinkler's mist a rainbow mist,
When summer sun comes down.
We'd catch the fireflies at dusk,
In mason jars with holes,
Those childhood summers long ago,
Still warm within our souls.
Within the library of dreams,
The bookshelves reach so high,
The scent of old and musty pages,
Makes grown-ups pause and sigh.
The stories waiting on the shelves,
Hold magic yet untold,
A library of dreams within,
Where wisdom is the gold.
After the storm the rainbow arcs,
A promise from the sky,
That sun will shine through clouds again,
And warm the earth nearby.
The colors bend from red to violet,
Spanning hill and dale,
A rainbow's promise ever holds,
That hope will still prevail.
The mist rises from the lake so still,
My line cast out with grace,
The bobber floats like a duck's nest,
In this quiet peaceful place.
The heron stands on one leg tall,
Awaiting fish so sly,
While I sit patient in my boat,
As morning hours fly by.
The orchards groan with fruit so ripe,
The apples ready to fall,
The cider press is cleaned and oiled,
To catch the season's call.
The farmers pick from dusk till dawn,
The harvest bounty store,
Another year of plenty comes,
To feed the rich and poor.
My old guitar sits in the corner,
Unplayed for years gone by,
Its strings still hold their tuning true,
Beneath the dust that lies.
I strum a chord and feel the vibration,
Of music from my past,
The old guitar plays on for me,
As memories hold fast.
The morning dew sits on the grass,
Like diamonds bright and clear,
It catches light before the sun,
Disperses with our fear.
Each droplet holds a million stars,
Reflecting sky so blue,
Morning dew on flowers fresh,
A day brand new and true.
The mountain stream jumps over rocks,
Its waters pure and cold,
It carries leaves and acorns small,
As silver fish swim bold.
The banks are lined with moss so green,
Where ferns grow in the shade,
A mountain stream that never dries,
Has carved its own ravine.
The old covered bridge spans the creek,
Its boards creak with each step,
The roof keeps out both rain and snow,
While we cross the deck.
Generations pass beneath its beams,
Of wood so old and worn,
A covered bridge stands still today,
Where horses once were born.
We stepped onto the ballroom floor,
My heart aflutter light,
Your hand fit mine like perfect puzzle,
On that first dance night.
The orchestra played soft and sweet,
We turned beneath the lights,
Our first dance written in my heart,
Among our fondest memories.
The kitchen smells of bread and pie,
With flour upon the floor,
The wood stove warms the winter cold,
As thunderstorms roar.
Grandmother's recipes in the box,
Held secrets we still keep,
A farmhouse kitchen gathering place,
Where love is learned to reap.
The campfire crackles bright and warm,
Beneath the starry sky,
The marshmallows we roast on sticks,
Make shadows dance nearby.
The stories shared around the flames,
Will live in memory,
A starlight campfire under skies,
Full of wonder and of glee.