Catrina Conway

Christmas Dreams

As November leaves

its shadowy touch

at the end of the year,

I fall into a slumber

And a world of dreams appears;

A poet on a hillside,

A painter by a heath,

A kind Victorian lady,

A slapstick jewellery thief,

An angry little mouse,

A ballerina in a box,

A talking candlestick,

A crafty little fox,

A pretty little mermaid,

A witch with magic spells,

A ghost of things yet to come,

A dozen Christmas bells,

Twinkling apparitions

Of good men who’ve come and gone,

I dance amongst them gaily

To a happy, ghostly song,

Then in the morning sun I wake up

With the fireplace alight,

And the rolling hills outside

All blanketed in white;

And all those that I met

In the adventures of my mind,

Stay with me inside my heart

For new fairytales to find!

the owl and the otter

once upon a time there were two best friends;

one could fly and one could swim,

they spent long nights cosied up in the woods;

feasting on rich autumnal goods,

and when the morning pulled them from their slumber;

they spent hours exploring the woods in wonder,

making daisy chains and planting forget-me-nots,

up in treehouses painting small clay pots,

and when the rain kissed their dainty heads;

they would dance to the music of thunder ahead,

sometimes you can still hear the echoes of their laughter;

their love for one another lingers on hereafter,

the pitter patters of their feet skipping by,

two hands holding in the midnight sky.

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