In anticipation (the calm, non-frenzied kind) of the melancholy that will follow the Advent and Christmas season, I celebrate the not-here-yet-ness of that cold, bare, January phenomenon.
Because Norah, she's tres magique.
December, come to me
I hope I can see
You not just in dreams
I will let you be
Why can't you believe
How much you really mean?
December, won't you come
Back with snow, even sun?
Don't say that it's done
I will carry you home
Take you from the loneliest place
you have known
I will carry you home
Take me from the loneliest place
I have known
