Cold hands a warm embrace.
A row of cards above the fireplace.
This day will pass but not without a trace.
There's laughter and the glow of heady wine,
The heavenly scent of decorated pine.
And there with presents clutched
they fidget out of line with granny knots of
In each sleepy eye, there's innocence sublime,
And the magic of another Christmas time.
M O' Brien
Dalkey, Co Dublin