White light like miniature angels
flying at speeds of 40 watts.
Sweet scents of pine serenade the house,
"Silent Night" tastes like past Thanksgiving at Grandma's-
-the start of it all.

I drive to Denbigh Trace
to surprise Alison with a gift
-or many.

"Silent Night" doesn't taste like anything,
it's only a song.

The snow falls-
everywhere but here.
We'll get some this year.
Cold frost pierces like knives
when I walk out to smell the snow,
because I love Christmas.

The colorful paper of happiness
tempts me to be naughty.
The chance of being alone at Christmas
couldn't have been sweeter.

I join the angels inside
the white light.