14 December 2012
Angel of evil do not descend on this sunlit town in early morning,
First grade not yet accustomed to the day, coats crowded on hooks,
In corridors the scraping of boots, busy hands adjusting at desks,
The bell has rung, their teacher greets, she hovering over them.
Toward the windowsill a sidelong glance, the candle the wreath.
Their Christmas nearing. Still so new at six.
Be merciful angel, do not alight. Stay winged, pass over.
If it doesn't fit anywhere else, it fits here
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