Yesterday’s Christmas, and Christmases before that,
toughened memory of human birth, and God’s. Yesterday’s star of Bethlehem, an
account best left for wisdom to ponder, children to understand on first sight.
Yesterday’s December, examinations over, beach cricket, or Wiltshire under
snow, or someone to go with somewhere new. Yesterday’s song of yesterday’s
love, recalling the todays we live for, for someone other than ourselves.
Yesterday’s novel, a sensation a season, that couldn’t be put down, now cannot
be found when required. Yesterday’s stars, all we’ll ever see, beaconing if not
beckoning light years away, ago, from our midnight garden party.
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