Let us stroll
on a winter’s night,
holding hands.
Above the town
a gold-streaked sky
silhouettes
the naked trees.
On the front
bright festive strands
warm the frosty
ice-spiked breeze.
Lapping waters
shimmer and dance
as the lighted
ferry leaves.
Far away a choir sings.
Let us stroll
on a winter’s night,
holding hands.
Joan Willard