Christmas in New England
has a highway worth its trip in gold,
Yankee Brick Road.
How odd, coming home so quick.
A sticky gray drapes the Carolina trees,
shrouds tonight that shrug and wheeze
and just hang around on stage,
waiting for the Star. . .
our occupied home who now surrounds,
is Nature in confounds,
as if the swiftly spirited we
still not there for Play.