14 December 2012
Angel of evil do not descend on this sunlit town in early morning,
First grade still unaccustomed to the day,
In corridors the shuffling of boots
Coats crowded on hooks, busy hands adjusting at desks.
The bell has rung, their teacher, she greets them, hovering.
Toward the windowsill their sidelong glances, the candle the wreath.
Their Christmas nearing. Still so new when seven.
Be merciful angel, do not alight. Stay winged, pass over.