Its soothing hands caress my face
Soft and gentle, like English lace
The glistening of a drop of dew
Yet those who savoured it are few
Its warmth blankets against the cold
Safe I am, sheltered between its fold
The eternal sunset stays in mind
Seen even by those who are blind
Its power makes precious stones
Cheapened, turned dust and bones
The expansiveness of the ocean
Would seem small by its comparison
Its light would show the very way
To place for the world-weary to stay
I speak of love, its power and greatness
The source of both grief and much happiness
I speak of love because I felt it and I knew it
But I speak not more of it because I found it
I found it in the month of December,
A December for which I will remember
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