First footing in the snow,
with a blackened hand of coal.
On a cold cold Hogmanay morning.
Catching fleeting glimpses of fireside glasses.
Heads turned-about in new year’s expectation.
Good luck to all, you lads and lasses.
And save this gift from me.
It’s for my dear dear sweet Ginny,
who’s far away this Hogmanay.
In a land of sun and sleepy epiphanies.
In a place where the Magi come.
Raise your glasses once more,
make a roaring toast.
And save a piece of warmth for her.