The Material of Our Christmases

Dancing Trousers


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,

Mass-heading feet

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.

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