Pas de bruit ce matin
Sauf pour un vent leger
Qui fait danser ...
Sauf pour une horloge
Qui fait voler ...
Regarde par la fenêtre
Pas de neige
Seulement la terre endormie
Pas d'enfants
Seulement la balançoire démunie
Regarde dans le salon
Un arbre garni de lumière
Un symbole visuel
Un espoir promis et mystère
Ce matin de Noël
I do write in French as well. It was Christmas morning. And like most other mornings, I was up long before anyone else. It wasn't always like that on Christmas mornings, but little children grow up to become adults. That growing up steals the magic from them so that they learn to sleep in later, even on a magical morning. I decided to leave the poem in its original French rather than translate it here fearing that to much would be lost, especially with the passage of years since the poem was written. As you will notice, I have used a blue type for the poem in order to represent the language, the language of my ancestors.
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