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.
