(for Charles and Joan)
Christmas Past our childhood paints
In hue of silver, red, or green
That grownup wisdom promptly taints.
We struggle to recall the scene
In haunted hours--'til we succumb
To dreams of Christmas Yet To Come
Christmas Present bids us glee
But often fails us, insofar
As spirits are but nebulae--
Much like the conjured air guitar
On which our anxious fingers strum
A tune of Christmas Yet To Come
As we our ledgers deftly mark
(With many cyphers) do we dare
Begrudge a sovereign to our clerk?
Pray, let us not be so unfair
Lest nightmares leave us cold and numb
In fear of Christmas Yet To Come
These Christmas apparitions sing
A hymn of one who will redeem
Our souls, and revelation bring.
Upon that holy day t'would seem
Our halting carol will become
A tale of Christmas Yet To Come
