Angels with folded wings float through my door,
camels negotiate a passage through the letter slot.
They bring seasonal greetings from my friends of yore.

Soft reindeer hooves land gently on the floor.
Sinterklaus lets me know that I am not forgot,
more angels fold their wings, come through my door.

Shepherds and Kings with gifts seem each to pour
fresh guilt upon me, since this year I’ve not
mailed out reciprocal greetings to my friends of yore.

I’ve known a gentleman for fifty years and more
who, every summer eve sits down to jot
the names on cards; angels with folded wings are at my door.

Next year, I tell myself, will not be like before —
I’ll buy my cards in June, address the precious lot
and mail them by December, to dear friends of yore.

O shepherds, kings, Gasper, Balthasar, Melchior
your patience never wavered from the goal you sought,
next year when angels once again come to my door
may I have sent affectionate greetings to each friend of yore.

Joan Latchford, Christmas, 2002

To read other poems by Joan, click on the links below:

What Did I Say?

Sic gloria transit mundi