Cold hands we may have had but not cold hearts <br />As, cheerfully, we children carolled round the village, <br />A Christmas tradition that still tries to cling on <br />In some secluded spots, unbended by the centuries of change <br />Assailing our more mean and modern world. <br /> <br />We sang with made-up harmonies, the well-known tunes <br />That are now defeated by the advent of UPVC double-glazing, <br />Conducted by my father, beating time with his trusty baton, <br />A tiny light-bulb at the tip attached by sticky tape <br />So sundry singers all could see the beat beneath dim streetlights. <br /> <br />The battered Bethlehem carol sheets, unearthed from the attic, <br />Were scowled at, eyes vainly grasping lost words in the gloom <br />But there would be no gloom within us, for we were glad <br />As we, resilient to the cruel cold and drifting thin drizzle <br />Soon to turn to steel-cold sleet and even snow, sang wholeheartedly. <br /> <br />For snow could only make that Christmas come more close <br />As “In the bleak midwinter” seemed to be more real <br />Amidst the bleating of chilled sheep from the hillsides <br />And we would not need to ask, “What can I give him? ” <br />We gave our simple songs with ardent heart and voice and soul.<br /><br />C Richard Miles<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/carol-singing/
