The Cricket In The Cupboard Poem by Richard D Remler

.....

There is a song of melancholy
In this old quiet place,
As rimy January shares
Her lovely face.
And frost paints
Every window
With it's strange design.
Yet I don't mind.

I see the snow the new year
Has brought my way,
And how the children
Run and play
Singing old December songs
I'll never come to know.
As they build their winter wonderland
From every flake of snow,
And wait so patiently
For that silky ring,
When winter finally bows
Her nod to the coming Spring.

The tree tops dance and gently sway
As jolly winter breezes play,
And the cardinal, in its noble grace,
Spies out from her hiding place,
Just to see the starlight sprinkle through
The distant houses two by two.

And here, in this old quiet place,
The hearth glows warm and fair,
An ember snapping now and then
To greet me unaware.
I feel my years, this old man's guise,
I rest my head and close my eyes.
And still I hear its serenade,
So melancholy sweet,
That nectar of its solitude
So hauntingly replete.
Always ever patient,
Come thunders, rain
Or snow,
Sharing that part of itself
Just to say hello.
And in the moving,
Waning light
I find the
Quiet of my night,
And I drift into that shadowed sea
Where old memories belong
As the cricket in the cupboard
Sings its evening song.


Copyright © MMXIII Richard D. Remler