Christmas approaches.
Every star-struck sense
shuts down for the snow
though a cappella codes of carols -
interpreting the tingling elements
as if nipped noses and chapped lips
were necessary notes -
assuming the means,
make fingers do jingle bell dances in pockets and bags,
snap purses open and unhand
wads for gifts (wrapping with bows and ribbons
being the best bit
of Baubles-and-The-Tree
or cards carrying Robins and Santa through the letterbox) .
But God's scot-free and
rebirth comes unplanned.
This makes me shiver, as always. O...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This should become a classic...for form and content. The uneasy balance of modern Christmas.