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I’ve never yet been caroling and cold,

and yet I know that so’s not true for most.

Tho fingers freeze and wills are wont to fold,

my heart is, to a hearty fire, host.

But Wenceslas could heat the very ground,

before his page behind, caught by the gale;

and not just warm was his heart to be found,

but everyone’s who listened to his tale.

There is a step, beyond what I have learned,

that lets one’s warmth be warmth to everyone,

and not just his whose heart already burned,

but to those who have not yet fires begun.

This, Wenceslas knew more, indeed, than I

who’ve been but by his snow-ward steps made dry.

~~~

I went to where I met you very first

to see if I could catch just one more sight,

to see if fate herself could be coerced

in giving me just one more glimpse of light.

I went to those who knew you more than I

and hoped that they could say a word of you

and hoped they might say when you’d be by

so that I might also be found there too.

I went to every place that you could be,

in hopes to say what you already know,

in hopes to say how much you mean to me,

before, upon a week-long trip, you go.

I went by hope, and went I, too, by prayer,

but saw no chance to see you anywhere.