• the mist was blissful, was it not?
    the smoke on the chimney dusty and light
    and dusty the soot which bore from the ash
    gave news that the flame was orange and hot
    the melting wind blazed from the red fire,
    the dancing flame, none the less warm,
    it toasted your ears and felt like a song
    while there was a faint sound that came from much higher.
    All looked to the windows, most lined with soft brick
    the white crispy piles of soft frozen drops
    made ones vision blurry as they swirled through the air
    but suddenly a cry made it clear, 'look' cried a girl 'why if it isn't saint nick!'
    twas the jolly old man with a sack of wrapped things
    he bellowed and chuckled and children would join
    they imitated the kind sound of his laugh
    ho ho ho you could hear them all sing
    and to you and to me
    what took place that night
    to lay eye on that man
    could but only be dreamed
    so fair maids and men with too high a brow
    dont ever stop believing
    always have hope
    because you never know when he'll come around.

    Merry Christmas!!!