a star burns bright
for our brothers of poetic art
a star burns bright
viewing their poems a sheer delight
this Christmas we'll feel their depart
none surviving erasure's dart
a star burns bright

in the cloud's heavy brow
a thunderous tempest brews
afore eve's last hour

The rose speaks
Of love silently
In a language known
Only to the heart

Five little flowers growing
In a row
The first one said
I am purple you know
The second one said
I'm pink as pink can be
The third one said
I'm blue like the sea
The fourth one said
I'm a  very red flower
The fifth one said
My color is yellow
Then out came the sun
Big and bright
And five little flowers smiled in delight