I DO not care to wait until the hand of death has smoothed your brow
Before I say what's in my heart, I'd rather tell it to you now.
I'd rather say: 'How glad I am to know your cheery voice and smile,'
Than stand and say 'how glad I was' in some grief-stricken after-while.
I'd rather shout: 'how good you are!' than sniffle out: 'how good was he!'
And so I take this Christmas Day to say you have a friend in me.
And so I take this Christmas Day to wish you everything that's fine,
A cloudless sky for every day, a path where roses bloom and twine;
May sorrow never find your door, but if it shall and leave you dumb,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem