A Christmas Poem

Freezing cold forms outside,
the wind spirits blow the snow,
sometimes, hail,
but not a feeling unknown.

The warmth of past celebrations,
and those yet to come
is what unites the differences
of the place we call home.

In the far past,
such union
was meant to last.

Water, earth, air, fire,
whichever element you desire,
doesn't matter to distant gods
or spirits or simple odes.

With family at the table,
pumpkin fritters are a must,
but that codfish I can't trust,
though I might stay for some octopus.

Green, red, gold and white,
make the town so bright.
In my house, under the tree,
there are gifts for you and me.

Christmas goes by so fast,
it wasn't meant to last.
Though its magic extends far,
like high in the night sky, a shooting star.