This Christmas i shunned the bells and tinsels of yester-years
reveled in a low-burning fire instead
and the sound of the wind in the still-live pines
or the soft sink and slide
when standing in the mud of a rain-weary gravel road.
I don't miss a thing.
I don't mourn a thing.
and I don't want a thing.
perhaps it's the closest thing to Peace on Earth i'll ever encounter
and I bet my tiny striped gloves and the sweet flavor of hot-buttered rum
it's fleeting
on it's way again before i've even had time to recognize it.
you do not need it: this Peace of Mind, whoever she is
whoever he is
whoever it is
