‘Twas the night before New Year’s,
And throughout the village,
Our people were bunkered
In a cold winter’s stillage.
The houses we’d lived in
Were now memories,
Like squirrels and birds,
And life in the trees.
The terrible fires
Had long since gone cold,
With silence
replacing
The stories we told.
But a village adapts
Responding to need,
A regenerated
Place up from seed.
The people provide
Whatever they could,
Some skills and some resources,
Metal and wood.
Homes were imagined,
No regard for the past,
Without the restrictions
Of how long they’d last.
And families assembled,
What is and what will,
Binding together
With love as the fill.
The villagers knew
That care and not fear,
Was the best resolution
To renew every year.
by Gregory Fearon
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