Poems of Christmas

It's Christmas, come, let's look through all the malls, through them indeed to keep our balance sound, and see, where tinsel is, and thin glass balls, the fragile love of whimsy; where, around the cradle, painted plaster figures kneel recall our own amazement at all birth - of child or book, designs for all that's real that turned out right, for myth, hope, mirth. Our generosity may take strange forms, go well beyond obligatory cards and greeting. We, not trapped inside the norm of commerce, stoop, pick up the colored shards of Christmas - reach through its strange disguise, enjoy the spangles in the children's eyes.