The Winter Fireside Chronicles

The frost clings tight, a crystal shroud,

On branches stark and winter-proud.

The sun dips low, a fading ember,

As twilight paints the sky December.

Within the hearth, a fire's embrace,

Warmth danced on each weathered face.

Logs crackle, stories ignite,

Whispered tales of starlit night.

Grandfather's voice, a seasoned rhyme,

Of heroes bold and deeds of time.

Grandmother's hands, in rhythmic knit,

A woollen tale where shadows flit.

Children's eyes, wide with delight,

Catch fireflies in dreams of light.

Paper castles rise and fall,

As shadows stretch upon the wall.

Moonlight spills, a silver stream,

Across the floor, a magic gleam.

The old hound sighs, content to rest,

His head upon a weathered chest.

Through oaken beams, the wind's soft sigh,

A lullaby beneath the sky.

Stars like diamonds, frost like lace,

A winter's symphony in place.

So gather close, let stories weave,

By firelight, where hearts believe.

For in these tales, the winter's hold,

Is warmed by love, both young and old.