The Winter Fireside Chronicles
The Winter Fireside Chronicles
The frost clings tight, a crystal shroud,
On branches stark and winter-proud.
The sun dips low, a fading ember,
As twilight paints the sky December.
Within the hearth, a fire's embrace,
Warmth danced on each weathered face.
Logs crackle, stories ignite,
Whispered tales of starlit night.
Grandfather's voice, a seasoned rhyme,
Of heroes bold and deeds of time.
Grandmother's hands, in rhythmic knit,
A woollen tale where shadows flit.
Children's eyes, wide with delight,
Catch fireflies in dreams of light.
Paper castles rise and fall,
As shadows stretch upon the wall.
Moonlight spills, a silver stream,
Across the floor, a magic gleam.
The old hound sighs, content to rest,
His head upon a weathered chest.
Through oaken beams, the wind's soft sigh,
A lullaby beneath the sky.
Stars like diamonds, frost like lace,
A winter's symphony in place.
So gather close, let stories weave,
By firelight, where hearts believe.
For in these tales, the winter's hold,
Is warmed by love, both young and old.