If I could steal the fire from those eyes
and take them to rule the darkest skies,
We would sit every wintry December
near an adorned pine tree to remember:
when a chorus cried a Christmas’ melody,
You held my heart under your custody.
While I untie a bow after a bow,
giving you three kisses over the brow,
You show me the final wrapped gift:
A green butterfly on the finger you lift.
I blow softly and she flies faraway,
You are all mine on this Christmas day.