Let us go — and hold the reindeer.
Rely on us to plant and prune and garner

light-filled beauty in the cold and dim.
Dark-green branches murmur: value women

— in and out-of-doors — women chasing
thunder, lightning in their cores.

Across the starlit land, sky-waves ripple
weighted with collective dreams.

How the world sleeps, though angel-faces
shine from golden stars. We come!

Swallows dive to catch our whispers
while moons shed tender silken mist.

Throw hailstones — frilled and fluted.
Pluck a sunset sash, and wear it.

Weave amber shades of night. Roof to roof
twinkle — till rarest rose of dawn.

The once-filled sleigh is empty, empty.
Now hold to truant hopes – incense rising,

piercing golden skies. Let loose the reins —
so all can know what women’s wits can do.

Puff! Pale moonbeams on forest hills —
frosted white and sweet. Oh! — cherish

frozen ground! Ice will melt — and move
along — till rivers fill again with tears.

. . . . .

Poet: Susan Powers Bourne
Source: Dame Online and Goody Santa Claus
Process: White out, pick and mix