Poem by Dylan Thomas: A Child's Christmas In Wales
Read below...
Read below...
One Christmas was so much like another, in those
years around the sea-town corner now and out of all sound except the
distant speaking of the voices I sometimes hear a moment before sleep,
that I can never remember whether it snowed for six days and six nights
when I was twelve or whether it snowed for twelve days and twelve nights
when I was six.
All the Christmases roll down toward the two-tongued sea, like a cold and headlong moon bundling down the sky that was our street; and they stop at the rim of the ice-edged fish-freezing waves, and I plunge my hands in the snow and bring out whatever I can find. In goes my hand into that wool-white bell-tongued ball of holidays resting at the rim of the carol-singing sea, and
All the Christmases roll down toward the two-tongued sea, like a cold and headlong moon bundling down the sky that was our street; and they stop at the rim of the ice-edged fish-freezing waves, and I plunge my hands in the snow and bring out whatever I can find. In goes my hand into that wool-white bell-tongued ball of holidays resting at the rim of the carol-singing sea, and
