The low profile of the mainland / Across Vineyard Sound / Swims into focus.

Just once each year / I can recapture something / Of childhood’s summer-scented magic.

Up the coast to another territory. Hollywood war music on the radio.

This time of the year / Whispers in Santa’s ear / Elicit Ho, Ho, Hos / Smiles of children / Laughter of folklore.

A poem with seasonal reflections.

In a long row of pots along the side of the station / Blooms the garden of the garage’s mechanic.

Fred Vincent, sexton of the church / for thirty years / Walked past our house each Sunday / In the winter / To go and ring the bell.

What’s the buzz and the click? / My song of course, / though no one but I have ever tried to sing it.