To the lake and mountain cling fast the myth of lore and legend,

Inspired by the transformation of nature’s face across the seasons,

See the shimmering tarn ringed dark by rock and trees,

So easy to believe, for it to be enchanted,

By mysteries so deep, to mortals un-revealed.

 

Once, sunlight bathed these tranquil shores and myriad colours adorned the tors,

A summer warmth allayed all fears, denying the legacy of bygone years,

In loose form of time and plan, the scene had idly passed,

Through long scented days of waving grass.

 

But now the golden leaves have come and gone, the nights are dreary long,

Taloned branches grope grey skies, where nothing kind cares to fly,

Bewitched dark water turned silver white,

Every ripple smoothed and stilled by winter’s bite.

 

Yet, there is still a moving wraith, a spectral breath of untold life,

As tinkling chimes from icy scales being shed,

Herald the stirring from some lair, of an airborne serpent with fiery breast,

All crystal gold and silver gleaming, the freezing phoenix arises with fascination,

For all the souls it will molest.

 

To break the hearts of lovers and destroy all idyllic charm,

To cleave our sons from mothers and fill the world with harm,

As always fails the Christmas spirit to raise the human kind.

Above the tacky gaudy glare of shallow selfish minds.

 

Forever plunging high expectations, cruelly down into despair,

With scorching draught of dry ice steaming,

The Festive Spirit Dragon resumes its reign,

Spewing forth the seasonal greeting.