On a Sunday Morning Near Christmas

from the Christmas tree, image © the author

Lights gleam in white and red
Inside a thick-flocked Christmas tree
Replete with childhood angels,
New stuffed llamas, brightly painted bird;
White window panes frame distant trees
That fade beneath low clouds;
Still falling snow glows cold
Above the piles of pale grass,
Both luminous in midday dusk.
But in the winter’s morning here indoors,
A quiet violin plays summer —
The Lark Ascending from an old cell phone
Left lying on a kitchen table —
Gentle notes of birds and far blue sky;
Here in the warm room,
A small parakeet in green and yellow,
Grandly named Sir Percival,
Warbles with the music.