What romance could distract my sober eyes,
From constellations in this very room?
Such pretty stars that crown our purest prize,
Anticipating joys that come home soon.
What finer company could any ask,
Than bellies fed and toasted toes to make?
The warming smiles of kin around the hearth,
And laughter thrown as if it could not break.
Our wealth could not increase, though we receive,
For more we would not ask this world to give.
What better Christmas could a soul achieve,
Than sharing it with all the stars that live?
Snow angels hold their hands through paned windows,
Lit quietly by families come home.