The Christmas markets
Ev’ry year the same routine
Jingle Bells, White Christmas
Season keeps to grey and green
With no snow falling
Glaring sun and hot spice wine
Falling into dreams
Of good old days long gone by
Jingling of the sled
Drawn by cold bloods through the snow
Boughs of tall
fir trees
Bobbing up and
down in wind
Snow flakes
spinning down
The holy night approaching
Home lies far
ahead
Under dark sky
sweet silence
Moving onwards,
ho!
Caressed by
crisp and cold air
Across the river
And over the
round hillcock
The plain still
visible
Twinkling stars
and sickle moon
Smell the smoke
from home
Wood burning at
the fire place
Seeing the warm
light
Then greetings
and lavish feast
The noise grows
louder
And visitors
watch and buy
All busses ready
Tourists leave
and shops are closed
Tranquil Christmas
might start now
