At this time of year in the Northern Hemisphere, many are without shelter -- and are cold. Let us think of them -- as Cecil Day-Lewis (1904-1972) does in "A Carol" below (a poem whose lines for the most part maintain an alternating 6-5 syllable count and which contains the small number two). Let us remember to share our warmth.
A Carol by Cecil Day-Lewis
Oh hush thee, my baby,
Thy cradle's in pawn:
No blankets to cover thee
Cold and forlorn.
The stars in the bright sky
Look down and are dumb
At the heir of the ages
Asleep in a slum.
The hooters are blowing,
No heed let him take;
When baby is hungry
'Tis best not to wake.
Thy mother is crying,
Thy dad's on the dole:
Two shillings a week is
The price of a soul.
I have found "A Carol" in Christmas Poems: Selected and edited by John Hollander and J. D. McClatchy (Knopf, 1999).
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