So the Shortest Day came and the year died And everywhere down the centuries of the snow‐white world Came people singing, dancing,
To drive the dark away.
They lighted candles in the winter trees; They hung their homes with evergreen; They burned beseeching fires all night long
To keep the year alive.
And when the new year's sunshine blazed awake
They shouted, reveling.
Through all the frosty ages you can hear them
Echoing behind us ‐ listen!
All the long echoes, sing the same delight,
This Shortest Day,
As promise wakens in the sleeping land:
They carol, feast, give thanks,
And dearly love their friends,
And hope for peace.
And so do we, here, now,
This year and every year.
The Shortest Day, by Susan Cooper
How I like to hear this poem in my head...
It's not quite solstice yet, but this was the obvious poem to accompany a photo of TKS and the Misty Mountain Singers performing for a group friends in a small natural amphitheater peeking out over Blue Hill Bay. It was chilly, but well worth it!