Lady Selecting Her Christmas Cards

by Phyllis McGinley (1905-1978)

Fastidiously, with gloved and careful fingers,
   Through the marked samples she pursues her search.
Which shall it be: the snowscape's wintry languors
   Complete with church,

An urban skyline, children sweetly pretty
   Sledding downhill, the chaste ubiquitous wreath,
Schooner or candle or simple Scottie
   With verse underneath?

Perhaps it might be better to emblazon
   With words alone the stiff, punctilious square.
(Oh, not Victorian certainly. This season
   One meets it everywhere.)

She has a duty proper to the weather--
   A Birth she must announce, a rumor to spread,
Wherefore the very spheres once sang together
   And a star shone overhead.

Here are the tidings which the shepherds panted
   One to another, kneeling by their flocks.
And they will bear her name (engraved, not printed),
   Twelve-fifty for the box.

Christmas Poems
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