Bill Keen Poet Lyric

Christmas Walk

After the carols and the pageant
		of the birth, we walk through the night
		of Lexington to Suzanne and Fran’s.

		The streets are darker since a giant
		oak gave up the ghost and downed the lights.
		The colored bulbs at the Phi Gams’,
	
		still burning, though the brothers went
		a week ago, wouldn’t guide us back except
		we already know the necessary turns

		and window candles on McDowell
		cast their welcoming glow into the night.
		Then, as Enid taught us, we hold hands
		
		and from our circle of Quaker grace
		send silent wishes from our inner light
		to all our friends beyond this place

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