Christmas Songs
They must be in tune with the crackling
Hisses of slow-burning wood —
Fires of the season —
Each miniscule cake of ash reminiscent
Of a burnt-out year.
Sparks ascend to heaven, reminding us
Of the cliché —rising stars.
Songs and melodies fill the air,
With old voices heard once in a year —
At this time of year, with whistling snow,
When the world grows old — and happily.
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