In books lies the soul of the whole Past Time: the articulate audible voice of the Past, when the body and material substance of it has altogether vanished like a dream.
Thomas Carlyle
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Christmas Secrets
Underneath a winter sky,
A distant train sings out the miles.
And so I wonder can it be,
Will every mile bring you to me?
A promise made may still come true,
So I am waiting here for you.
If you don't come, what will I do?
Who shall I tell my secrets to?
Christmas bells ring out their chimes,
I hear them echo through the night.
And moonlight shines upon the road,
And trembles on the falling snow.
I look into the midnight blue,
So many stars I never knew.
If you don't come, what will I do?
Who shall I tell my secrets to?
I look into the midnight blue,
So many stars I never knew.
If you don't come, what will I do?
Who shall I tell my secrets to?