The bonfires of midwinter burn;
we conjure up the sun's return.
This is the black depth of the year
in which the seasons, circling near,
are pulled into the vortex; here
the bonfires of midwinter burn.
The quickening spirits of the Spring
whirl round their bright bewildering,
and with the energies they bring
we conjure up the sun's return.
The Summer's heavy heat and bloom
is swept into December's gloom
and heady ripeness fills the room.
The bonfires of midwinter burn.
The fallen leaves and fruits of Fall
attend us, and, as we recall
that grey rain's ever drifting shawl,
we conjure up the sun's return.
We gather round the towering tree
in whose perpetual green we see
this old earth's ancient potency.
The bonfires of midwinter burn.
The radiant necklace threaded bright
within the leaves reclaims delight
for darkness and within its light
we conjure up the sun's return.
Traditions ancient as the earth
tell how within this cold and dearth
there blooms miraculous rebirth.
The bonfires of midwinter burn,
and we lift up our voices to
the heart of life that will renew
itself in us and all we do.
The bonfires of midwinter burn;
we conjure up the sun's return.
Robin Skelton
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/carol-for-yule/
