The little room grows warmer, full of light
Somehow, although the deep December dark
Sits just beyond the window, and the night
Is icy-cold and silent. Silent? "Hark
the Herald Angels" is a choir-song
From somewhere just behind my chair, small boys
With scrubbed and shining faces dressed in long
Red robes. They make a lovely joyful noise.

I smile and choose another envelope
From one fat pile. Inside the words, alive
Dance in and out of holly, bright with hope
(Though some are touched with sadness). Four or five
Bedazzled Christmas angels, sweet and sage,
Fly out of paper heavens, and my lap
Is angel-dotted! Leaping off a page,
A Santa beams. A jester in a cap.

Is perched above a comma. Bright birds soar
Where postscripts are, Oh, friends, how very dear
You are, and present and accounted for,
All, all of you, miraculously-HERE!