Oh, precious friend
of life and light,
who too, seeks the answers
in the night,
in those humble pockets
of solitude,
in which all of us
will brood,
who too, struggles
with the pace of day,
with their troubled soul
left to decay;
fear not on death,
nor life's dismay,
when you come to me
on Christmas Day.

Dear friend of mine,
in lifetime's past,
before the court assigned
our caste,
from troubled years,
where we learned to love,
when we moved to question
the stars above,
when we learned the value
of today,
to beware even
the ides of May;
but fear not on doubt,
nor love's delay,
when you come to me
on Christmas Day.

And, my fellow soul
and Earthly delight,
who too, thrives upon
friendship's sight,
the warmth of wine,
and future schemes,
of how to attain
your lucid dreams,
who too, lives upon
where souls do play,
lest childhood minds
fall astray;
but fear not on loss,
nor what you portray,
when you come to me
on Christmas Day.