Joy

Snowdrifts pile ‘neath windows lit,

Through which pane does family sit

With a hearth ablaze in light,

Piercing through the cold of night.


Carols waft with flurries swift,

Lending warmth past each snowdrift;

Gleeful children scamper ‘round,

Pelting snowballs in the town.


Winter dreary oft can be,

Like the clouds o’er troubled sea;

Yet, with birth of Holy Boy,

Nations all do taste of joy.

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