Christmas music

Jingles at the Hearth

In the hush of a December night
when the hearth’s glow casts a briar‑twining glow,
the strains of a choir rise, soft and bright,
and the old carols that all feel a know.

There’s a clatter of tinsels, a sharp little snap,
a sleight of a fiddle’s bright echo in the air;
the choirs sing “O Gentle‑Lord who watch”
while the old‑fashioned fire gives a crackling flare.

The brass section swoops like a sparrow’s wing,
a bright “silver bells” squeaking in the town;
and the trumpet blares a festive hymn,
painting the sky with a shimmer‑silver crown.

The piano, dimmed to a supper‑table glow,
taps out a slow footnote of “Silent Night”,
the children in a line, they hum onward slow,
each note a tiny star, each breath a light.

There is the faint scent of mulled wine,
and the “Hotspoons of hops” that mix in rhyme,
with the echo of a bell on the climb,
the jubilant tide of a festival time.

In the attic, old records spin,
the swing of a tune “We wish you a merry old!”
with the laughter of the kin,
each song a memory sewn into the soul’s own core.

So let the yuletide music, robust and strong,
fill the dark and wine‑kissed night,
with the sense that we’re maybe all the same,
to join a choir at the hearth’s scented light.