Still he slept – the little boy –
In a drench of nightly grey;
His anticipation brewing up
With dreams of Christmas day.
But golden tinge then warmed
With dawn the hills of quilted snow,
Stitching magic into Kentish slopes
Till they kindled into glow.
The boy awoke with nature then
And his smile near caught alight:
A Narnian canvas the world was lain
In a crystally Christmas white.
His fingers clasped a blade of straw,
On his lips there passed a yawn -
The baby King exhaling hope
Like sunrise, newly born.
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