On this day before Christmas Eve, I give you some beautiful lines to ponder—not a poem, but the most poetic of prose. For the wonderful text in its entirety, click here.
from A Child’s Christmas in Wales
by Dylan Thomas (1914-1953)
Years and years ago, when I was a boy, when there were wolves in Wales, and birds the color of red-flannel petticoats whisked past the harp-shaped hills, when we sang and wallowed all night and day in caves that smelt like Sunday afternoons in damp front farmhouse parlors, and we chased, with the jawbones of deacons, the English and the bears, before the motor car, before the wheel, before the duchess-faced horse, when we rode the daft and happy hills bareback, it snowed and it snowed.