By Edwin Arlington Robinson

Christmas was in the air and all was well With him, but for a few confusing flaws In divers of God’s images. Because A friend of his would neither buy nor sell, Was he to answer for the axe that fell? He pondered; and the reason for it was, Partly, a slowly freezing Santa Claus Upon the corner, with his beard and bell. Acknowledging an improvident surprise, He magnified a fancy that he wished The friend whom he had wrecked were here again. Not sure of that, he found a compromise; And from the fulness of his heart he fished A dime for Jesus who had died for men.

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