More in this series: Prologue, Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6, Ch. 7, Ch. 8, Ch. 9, Ch. 10, Ch. 11, Ch. 12, Ch. 13, Ch. 14, Ch. 15, Ch. 16, Ch. 17, Ch. 18, Ch. 19, Ch. 20, Ch. 21, Ch.22, Ch. 23
“Level snow
Or high drifts blow . . .”
Moroz contemplated the words—
Words he had recently heard.
Words of warning from his granddaughter
Who seemed to be caught up in something beyond her.
He knew the words signaled change,
But what was to come, he could not say.
He knew the full stanza and the following lines.
He mulled them over and over in his mind,
“Level snow
Or high drifts blow,
On solid ice and afloat,
Or all drown painfully slow.
“The shift is coming in days or hours,
Shifting world of changing powers.
What will rise from the melting ice?
Is it new life, or cruel demise?”
If conflict was coming Moroz would have a hard time.
He was an important goblin who’d be expected to lead that side.
But his granddaughter . . . What would he do?
She clearly knew what side she would choose.
Still, for Moroz it wasn’t that simple.
He was a goblin of influence. He was a symbol.
A symbol of wealth and goblin pride.
He represented the ideal goblin way of life.
Moroz was a goblin banker
Steeped in the goblin rancor
Of political greed and power.
He knew well how to gain wealth
And make loads of profit for himself
Investing in the returns on others’ hours.
Inflating value in imaginary terms,
Hoarding profits others had earned,
Taking investments and piling them away
In a vault filled with promises and notes locked up safe
Where he could hold them for an unknown date
When he would secure more resources for another day.
Yet Moroz was constantly fretting, see,
That his hoard would someday decrease;
Or, similarly, lose its potency.
Somehow security stemmed sickening worry.
Worst of all, Moroz knew exactly what he was doing.
His granddaughter had shown him
The consequences of his system:
The indignity and pain from the choices he was choosing.
She was an icicle in his nose,
But he loved her ever so . . .
She could warm hearts or shatter them cold.
She was energetic, passionate and bold.
Goblins listened to her, young and old,
Though she did not buy into the ideas most goblins sold.
It bothered Moroz that she spent time with elves.
Bothered him more that it meant less time with himself.
Still, when she brought her best friend to the manor
He welcomed the elf with hot soup and candor.
An elf in his house
Was a shame no doubt.
He couldn’t help but bear the shame.
He enjoyed the elf’s plucky, subtle play.
The elf was enigmatic yet endearing,
Straightfaced and hard appearing,
Playful inside
And very bright.
Moroz kept it to himself
That he favored this elf;
Though, his granddaughter could tell,
And the elf could tell as well.
But, Moroz was a high status goblin.
Very few could say anything, much less stop him.
Therefore, with those two young ones in his heart
Moroz meditated on what to do should a conflict start.
Those lines weighed
On his wizened old brain.
It seemed, for now, all he could do was wait.
I’m enjoying listening to your recitation. I like how the goblin “Moroz” (sounds like morose). And even though Christmas has passed, this tale is evergreen! 😊🌲