I love you December, with a fierce fever
that pigments my cheeks a wild fervent blush;
skating on bright ice, my challenge steeper
in the land of slippery snow I rush

to seek out magic, that glistening love
so far and so fair, yet not beyond reach;
glaring a melody I know not of;
there are stars speaking a shimmering speech.

Now the Eve is nigh and the sparkles set
so carefully my hopes are frozen still
in a rhinestone pudding of finest jet,
now lightly I glide not down but uphill.

And an astral fate will bear its great rich peace
Upon the Sunday of this lovely feast.