Winter Moon

Felicia Abbass, News Editor

Flakes of snow sink into my eyelashes
Warm confections trickle into my nose
But surely, a house is not a home
The white fairies danced upon my windowsill
My eyes reflected their frolic as I sipped on hot cocoa
The little sand men fell to their lovers in the glass of time
Undoubtedly, a house is not a home
A dawning hour will rise upon me
“Come dear!” she exclaimed
Beaming grins
Warm gifts wrapped with love
My feet enlivened in the warm blankets
Thoughts swirled in my mind
Oh tomorrow, come already!
The pine trees abutted our home
The tree Illuminated with bibelots and whatnots that enthralled our minds
But surely, a house just can’t be a home
I gather with the people that entangle my heart
Mėnage gather per annum
Without a doubt, They are my home
Faces aglow
Affection bounces off our aura’s
With certainty, they are my home