a very leonard cohen Christmas poem

The birds have flown, away to stay,
the ground is white, frozen without decay,
and I long, long, to hear your voice,
vibrate the winter air,
perhaps to say,
Merry Christmas you.

The gloves came off, it was warm inside,
and some were lost, in doorways gone by,
but in each hand, there’s a sense of pride,
waiting to be felt,
waiting to prescribe,
waiting for, the sunrise.

Now, the days are short,
but they will be long again.
And the nights are dark,
but there will be light again.
Just remember that in every prayer,
there is G-d within,
rising from where it begins.