Walking through NW Portland, we came across a beautiful old traditional house set back off the street looking very much like it belonged in another century. It was so festive, festooned with lights, and surrounded by red pyracantha bushes.
As we got closer to it, I realized there was sign that said Poetry.
Free. Take one
(What a lovely gift to share with passers by)
The Shortest Day
And so the Shortest Day came and the year died
And everywhere down the centuries of the snow-white world
Came people singing, dancing,
To drive the dark away
They lighted candles in the winter trees;
They hung their homes with evergreen;
They burned beseeching fires all night long
To keep the year alive.
And when the new year's sunshine blazed awake
They shouted, revelling.
Through all the frosty ages you can hear them
Echoing behind us-listen!
All the long echoes, sing the same delight,
This shortest day,
As promise wakens in the sleeping land:
They carol, feast, give thanks,
And dearly love their friends,
and hope for peace.
And now so do we, here, now.
This year and every year.