The year's menopause is at hand
A whiff of Christmas lingers
In the air
The malls wear their garments of
Tall glowing yuletide trees
And bubble with the hustle
Of buyers pushing trolleys up and down
Santa Claus's beard white as snow
Continues to grow in the malls.
The church bells toll
And carols roll
From the choirs in the cathedral
There's a whip- round call in bazaars
And the church is churning
Money like merchants
Meanwhile the wishy -washy are home
The contents of the malls
And the whiff of Christmas
Tantalizing in their eyes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
You have been able to create a perfect setting for Christmas eve. The flow of the words sets off a cascade of melodies right from top to the southern tip. Thanks.