“I heard the bells on Christmas Day” — a line
my mind repeats along the fabled Brattle
Street, the poet’s home the city sign
identifies, whose son was lost in battle
he believed, that made the carols hollow
singing “peace on earth.” And as I walk
on iron snow, the toll of war we follow
hour by hour in idle bits of talk
reminds us that the distant sacrifice
that others bear, a toll of life for life,
is hidden, like the asking price
a child must pay for endless war and strife.
And “peace,” “peace,” “peace” is what I pray
each time I hear the bells on Christmas Day.