Twas the night before
Yuletide and all through the glen
Not a creature was stirring, not a fox, not a hen.
A mantle
of snow shone brightly that night
As it lay on the ground,
reflecting moonlight.
The faeries were nestled all snug in their trees,
Unmindful
of flurries and a chilly north breeze.
The elves and the gnomes
were down in their burrows,
Sleeping like babes in their soft
earthen furrows.
When low! The earth moved with a thunderous quake,
Causing
chairs to fall over and dishes to break.
The Little Folk
scrambled to get on their feet
Then raced to the river where
they usually meet.
“What happened?” they wondered, they questioned, they
probed,
As they shivered in night clothes, some bare-armed, some
robed.
“What caused the earth’s shudder? What caused her to
shiver?”
They all spoke at once as they stood by the river.
Then what to their wondering eyes should appear
But a shining
gold light in the shape of a sphere.
It blinked and it twinkled,
it winked like an eye,
Then it flew straight up and was lost in
the sky.
Before they could murmur, before they could bustle,
There
emerged from the crowd, with a swish and a rustle,
A stately old
crone with her hand on a cane,
Resplendent in green with a
flowing white mane.
As she passed by them the old crone’s perfume,
Smelling of
meadows and flowers abloom,
Made each of the fey folk think of
the spring
When the earth wakes from slumber and the birds start
to sing.
“My name is Gaia,” the old crone proclaimed
in a voice
that at once was both wild and tamed,
“I’ve come to remind
you, for you seem to forget,
that Yule is the time of re-birth,
and yet…”
“I see no hearth fires, hear no music, no bells,
The air
isn’t filled with rich fragrant smells
Of baking and roasting,
and simmering stews,
Of cider that’s mulled or other hot
brews.”
“There aren’t any children at play in the snow,
Or houses
lit up by candles’ glow.
Have you forgotten, my children, the
fun
Of celebrating the rebirth of the sun?”
She looked at the fey folk, her eyes going round,
As they
shuffled their feet and stared at the ground.
Then she smiled
the smile that brings light to the day,
“Come, my children,”
she said, “Let’s play.”
They gathered the mistletoe, gathered the holly,
Threw off
the drab and drew on the jolly.
They lit a big bonfire, and they
danced and they sang.
They brought out the bells and clapped
when they rang.
They strung lights on the trees, and bows, oh so merry,
In
colors of cranberry, bayberry, cherry.
They built giant snowmen
and adorned them with hats,
Then surrounded them with snow
birds, and snow cats and bats.
Then just before dawn, at the end of their fest,
Before they
went homeward to seek out their rest,
The fey folk they gathered
‘round their favorite oak tree
And welcomed the sun ‘neath
the tree’s finery.
They were just reaching home when it suddenly came,
The gold
light returned like an arrow-shot flame.
It lit on the tree top
where they could see from afar
The golden-like sphere turned
into a star.
The old crone just smiled at the beautiful sight,
“Happy
Yuletide, my children,” she whispered. “Good night.”
Poem author C.C.
Williford
