A generous old man adept, and deft at giving secret gifts: morphed to foster expectations of presents as befits the average monthly purse of each locale (why can’t I ask to get a horse?
Clustered village in a vale of sombre hills, high mound aside with towering ruin: gaping, ragged window voids that frame stunning views of drop to valley floor
Gold, and frankincense, and myrrh: gifts so costly, rich and rare: kingly honour, infant Saviour, – Jesus our sins would bear. ch : See the Gentiles travelling far,
A brown Christmas, dead buzzard in the mud, fields a-flood, welcome sight of clearing sky a breeze up high to make clouds skud away awhile; still warm and bright the friendly smile,
