Each year I shroud them in their bubble wrap,
The kings next to the shepherds and their sheep.
The donkey’s head lies in Melchior’s lap;
I settle them for their long winter’s sleep.
The ox’s horn grazes the angel’s wing,
The span outspread although he is supine.
It’s their long, silent night. No choirs sing.
I look about me for the ball of twine.
I keep the Family in the living room
Sequestered in a corner near the hearth.
They will still be there when the crocus bloom
Or we twine grape vines for an autumn wreath.
The others rest in place till I remember
To resurrect them early next December.
Dear Reader,
Can I be direct with you?
War abroad. Socialists on the rise. AI upending human life. Endless uproar online. The modern attention economy doesn’t want readers — it wants users enslaved to the tyranny of the present.
First Things is the antidote: literary excellence, timeless truths, and a fixed point of reference in a culture that has lost its bearings.
But we can’t do it without readers like you.
Our goal: Raise $150,000 by November 1 to sustain First Things in the year ahead.
Your gift anchors readers in the permanent things.
Make your Fall Campaign gift now using the button below.
If you have any questions or would like more information, please contact Giovanni Del Piero, Director of the Editor’s Circle, at gdelpiero@firstthings.com or 212-627-1985.
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