All around my room and all around the house,
everything is still and quiet as a mouse.
All the sounds of living are muffled by the night,
as if a large hand censors both my hearing and my sight.
Then the greater world is thrust into my ear—
a single church bell tolling is all that I can hear
signaling the hour—6 A.M. again—
a barrage of fireworks setting up its din
to welcome us to Christmas Eve though it is merely morn.
It is our second notice that a child will be born.
First the star low in the west—a bauble in the sky
tells the whole world of the day that is coming nigh.
Odors of the pine tree, presentiment of myrrh,
the stirring of the dogs, the cat’s insistent purr,
the roasting of the turkey—the onions in the dressing
bring another sense to transmit the Christmas blessing.
A touch of lips ‘neath mistletoe can’t be far away,
bringing that last sense of touch to calm the worldly fray.
May all the troubles of the world thereby find surcease
and for this brief holiday, may all the world find peace.