This time of the year / Whispers in Santa’s ear / Elicit Ho, Ho, Hos / Smiles of children / Laughter of folklore.
A poem with seasonal reflections.
In a long row of pots along the side of the station / Blooms the garden of the garage’s mechanic.
Fred Vincent, sexton of the church / for thirty years / Walked past our house each Sunday / In the winter / To go and ring the bell.
What’s the buzz and the click? / My song of course, / though no one but I have ever tried to sing it.
Finally You Don’t Come / Your return is temporary — just a few days / Or less.