The cars go by on softly muted wheels;
The houses have a homemade country look;
The Church of the Redeemer, there on Bloor,
Looks like a picture from an ancient book.
The roofs are thatches, with furry layers of snow
Tacked on like bating at a Christmas show.
White-haloed lampposts stand like sentinels
Before the sleeping castle of their lord;
A million wires furred with downy white
Glisten and sparkle like a Christmas cord.
The whole town has a happy, festive air,
Gay as the dancing at a country fair.
A little boy pulls a scarlet sleigh,
A lady picks out her way to church,
A bird half-hidden in the shrubbery
Finds his balance on a snow perch;
The house across the street changed in the night
Into a fairy palace - shining, white.
Just for a day, let us be young again.
And let this gentle peace be truly ours:
The snowy paths, the little gates ajar,
The quaint, top-heavy look of laden towers,
A city wrapped in cellophane and wool -
God's Christmas package, strangely beautiful.
~ Edna Jacques
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