From the Archive: “Green Christmas”

[I wrote this piece when we had a warm, no-snow Christmas in 1965, I think.]

Green Christmas

******* — middle of the carol of devotion
They felt warm air wash — snow ebb — and they shivered
*******— and soon the crisp clear jingle bells
*******were clicky buds ad suddedly the sdow was god.
And brown slush and rain and wet wool coats
And limp brown bows that blacked and mourned
Were what was left.

*******They sat by fireplace, backs of heads to black window:
*******“A green Christmas is an ill omen,” she said.
*******“I think not of omens,” he said, and wicker shivered.

Jiggle buds clicked lonely on the door
And jiggledeverbore.

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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