As snow falls in a ghostly shroud,
And makes a silent sound,
The mystical melody of a violin is loud,
The Winter Minstrel is abound,
He only appears, on cold snowy nights,
While everyone is holed up in their homes,
He plays away from the inviting lights,
He orchestrates out of cryptic Christmas tomes,
His countenance is of a gaunt corpse,
Pale and dressed in frozen rags,
And in time and place, he warps,
To a winter plain or mountain crags,
His instrument made from a piece of Noah’s ark,
His bow from driftwood and the finest Arabian horse hair,
And with his violin he departs, for lark,
Without a purpose or care,
If you listen on a snowflake filled night,
You will hear the melancholy music of this winter spirit,
Just stray a little form the comfort of light,
And the sound will keep you heart lit.
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