John Neff

When boxes fold and ornaments come down,And pine needles stop falling to the ground,When music fades from every crowded storeAnd normal starts knocking at the door— Not everything the season gave will

The light arrives without a sudden flare,No trumpet sound, no need to make it rare.It slips in softly through the edge of day,Like something sure it’s welcome if it stays. It finds the windows first,

The mailbox clanks—an ordinary sound—Yet joy can travel hidden, wrapped, and bound.A letter rides through miles of bitter air,Like hope that refuses to stay “over there.” Ink holds a heartbeat, sealed

The night hangs low in velvet, cool and wide,While storefront halos shimmer, glassy-eyed.The sidewalks keep their secrets, salt and grit,Yet every window frames a little bit— A kettle’s breath, a cand

The table doesn’t measure where you stand,Or check your worth against a better plan.It doesn’t ask how steady you’ve been lately,Or why your smile arrived a little faintly. It simply pulls another cha

The house exhales as evening draws in near,Its walls still warm from voices all this year.The furnace ticks like thoughts it can’t outpace,Replaying echoes time refused to erase. The hallway hums with