Often, on Christmas
I listen to a chant
Float from a coloured window
Softly sibilant

Often, on Christmas
I wait until a glow
From a coloured pane of glass
Slides across the snow

Yet though I hear songs
And listen from without
I never quite know what
Christmas is about

I never quite know
Till, singing on my breast
And warm as a coloured light
Your head is at rest