a christmas eve

thru the ages bygone,

crusades i have sailed till furthr'mre

amidst a distant dream i had bourne

thine vivacious self has been possessed to lure-

every jubilant carnival that hath ensued,

by dint of course thine has seen through;

nevermore,a cleft leftover yet been brewed

a day of twilight on the branches of yew.

thy yearn for an escapade within the far west

lost in a chalice of florid mulled wine,

a realm of the sage,the roads of bethelen blessed

thine smells of the mince pies;shepherds sitting for a dine.

thy weary self doth behold a serene land afar

a distant castle lit by flakes,of ancient flames

that chars a shadow.lost mistletoes hanging ajar:

the frost filled land of thick wooll'n hand inflames

the nights;or a fain tramp with his pharos,moving past the eve star-

thy sees the amaryllis floating 'neath the canopies,frames

o'the al'mighty 'bove the grate cover'd in tar...

thine hear the ringing bells rung by thee

chanting carols in bethels faraway maybe

children hymning the holiday song with glee...

'or stockings hang'd for the claus to forsee.

the heart of ivy cherish the christ

holms and bays of evergreen boughs

a bridge of paradise thru snow flakes iced

the abbey bells reminds thus of forgotten vows

sleighs and snowmen of the brightened hill

midnight's children are dreaming still

of reindeers, chimneys -of goblins and elves

as the bearded ghost glides past ourselves

as thy looks on:scottish pines are bathed with bells

with garland, tinsel and candy canes

but the star of bethelen stands gladly firm

as a host of angels glimpses doth affirm

the witching hour approaches the silent night

the new born king is here to fight

bells are ringing louder still, the bagpipers

are roaring.the barn art filled with

the three wise men who looks down from above...

thy forget what seen and thine yearn for a night,

to dwell in the stars , rejoice like a knight

revel in smell of the crackling goose

a butter tart or a chocolate mousse...

but thy corporeal life will drown my dream

stir thyself in a goblet of poisoned creme

the river defrosts- as the Twelfth Night is burning bright-

someplace else,a distant away,

thou ruptured star carries my yen of sprite...