A single aspect of the potato-pits was white with frost –
How excellent that was, how wonderful!
And when we place our ears to the paling-article
The new music that arrived out was magical.
The gentle concerning the ricks of hay and straw
Was a gap in Heaven’s gable. An apple tree
With its December-glinting fruit we noticed –
O you, Eve, were being the world that tempted me
To try to eat the awareness that grew in clay
And death the germ in it! Now and then
I can bear in mind a little something of the gay
Yard that was childhood’s. Again
The tracks of cattle to a ingesting-put,
A eco-friendly stone lying sideways in a ditch,
Or any widespread sight, the transfigured confront
Of a natural beauty that the environment did not contact.
My father played the melodion
Outdoors at our gate
There have been stars in the morning east
And they danced to his music.
Across the wild bogs his melodion known as
To Lennons and Callans.
As I pulled on my trousers in a hurry
I realized some weird point had took place.
Exterior in the cow-residence my mom
Manufactured the songs of milking
The light of her steady-lamp was a star
And the frost of Bethlehem manufactured it twinkle.
A h2o-hen screeched in the bathroom,
Crunched the wafer-ice on the pot-holes,
Any person wistfully twisted the bellows wheel.
My kid poet picked out the letters
On the gray stone,
In silver the ponder of a Christmas townland,
The winking glitter of a frosty dawn.
Cassiopeia was more than
Cassidy’s hanging hill,
I looked and a few whin bushes rode across
The horizon — the A few Intelligent Kings.
And old person passing claimed:
‘Can’t he make it discuss –
The melodion.’ I hid in the doorway
And tightened the belt of my box-pleated coat.
I nicked six nicks on the door-submit
With my penknife’s big blade –
There was a minimal a person for chopping tobacco.
And I was 6 Christmases of age.
My father played the melodion,
My mother milked the cows,
And I experienced a prayer like a white rose pinned
On the Virgin Mary’s blouse.