My eyes gaze through the stuttered blinds,
And cast a pan across the place
Of golden, hazy meadow days
As smoke chokes from the fireplace,
And I behold a sea of gold
As it competes with emerald grass,
A sea of frosty emerald-gold
That casts itself against the mass
Of endless, dimming Christmas lights
As mid-'noon soon comes fading in
To dim winter's late-'noon delights,
But not before, with golden grin,
The sun sprays wonders through the land,
Wonders atop the chimney stacks,
The grass, the houses, and the blinds
As golden tears go gleaming back.