yuletide

the solstice comes in cloudy the short day
will not be warm but neither very cold
the sky above's a smooth and pearly grey
the pine trees here are not young or old
but their gods are gone and the yule fire
is quite put out the thunder will not speak
ill-luck will burn somehow and no glib liar
can stop us getting the reward we seek
outside the promised rain is not yet here
but no stray light illuminates the ground
the shrubs are green though not yet sere
and in the distance there's a buzzing sound
the year's at bottom there's no shorter time
the sun now moves at last toward the prime