Across the lowly equator they have flown,
The days of sweltering heat and butterflies.
And the poinsettia shows all it green display,
Without the brightness of its yellow eyes.
Looking forward to the Holy Night,
When in blazing bracts it is born anew.
Celebrating the Holy Advent of our Savior,
With its hypnotizing ruby red debut.
The gift of sight to the spiritually blind,
Who have spent a season in a green spell,
With hearts awaiting the honored return,
Of the joyful sound of the silver bell.
The summer has been hot and dreary,
With little love for the heart to desire.
But come November of every autumn,
Our spirit yearns for the Yule Fire.
As the flaming bracts don their glowing style,
The babe's eyes shine with nascent light.
With such beauty to nurture its first vision,
It makes the joy bells ring right through the night.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem