OUTSIDE

Outside of my door
they are caroling
old hymns
when a band of children
are dancing
under lost wandering stars
like quickened snow flakes
falling over shadows
at my open windowpane
watching a meadow
of ftosty winter wonders
hearing rumors
of another war
on this countryside
by the hinterland
and now there is sleet
and a bit of rain
as this poet
over his sheet
with a frosted mask
sits over his day bed
asks only to hear
a humoresque
of a Debussy refrain
as he plays a Chopin
melody from an etude
on the baby grand piano
under the Christmas tree
and composes his verse
amid his own hidden
subdued quatrain.