I
A tied and
lovely knot she offers me
Her hair, a gift of gold, beribboned tail
Effulgent with the candle-lighted tree:
While less than Holy, still a precious Grail.
The loosened hanging wisps so yellow pale,
Like ends of package ribbon hanging free
Upon the package proper wanton trail,
Led up from which the main is artfully
Entwined in Gallic braids, a festive bow
Which I, no greedy child, slowly untie,
And there the gift no finacier can buy,
Her amber tresses decorate her brow.
II
"For
thee, my sweet, and ever my delight -
So long as these delight, shall ever grow
For thee my tresses - though I deem these slight
And worthless trifles, yet to thee bestow
I what thou askest me; remember though,
The stocking stuffer gifts are baubles bright,
To open first; so this you've gotten now,
And let this serve to whet thine appetite
For greater rarities more delicate,
As delicacies last the dinner grace,
But appetizers first; and if you race
Each course, dessert will find thee satiate."
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III
"For
thee, my sweet," return replying I:
"A gift certificate for poetry,
Which like the gingerbread, eternally
Is eaten, yet retains totality.
Now every day I'll sing a song to thee,
And every night the Muses elvishly
Shall labor at Parnassus' bakery;
At dawn present the Orphic cake to me,
Which I in turn shall offer up to thee.
For manna, song, and gingerbread are free,
So long as spent in cheery charity:
Thus thine is mine, and mine I give to thee."
IV
Presenting
which, I then composed this ode,
The first installment on the Heavenly bill,
Where, unlike credit cards, by which is owed,
For service rendered, money to the till,
His ledger shows my debits left as nil:
With every bit withdrawn, there's more bestowed
Upon His frail depositors; and still
As need He'd meet, the needful overflowed.
Here I digress, but Christmas is the type
Of Heaven's, strange to men, economy,
Where gift is everything, and graciously
He offers Grace, Who died, our slates to wipe.
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