Carollers sing at cottage doors,
Their songsheets bathed in lantern light,
Familiar words sound loud and clear,
Upon this frosty, moonlit night.
The sound of church bells fills the air,
Calling the faithful to midnight prayer.
Gusts of wind shake the holly hedge,
Where birds perch huddled out of sight.
Children are tucked up warm in bed,
Dreaming away this magic night.
Outside, late revellers in the lane
Sing "Good King Wenceslas" again.
. . . . . . Colin A. Lycett