The Choristers Poem by Mary Spain

Small, solemn faces sparkle with the fire
Of Christmas coming. Slight, schoolboy figures -
Far removed in spirit from the rigours
Of the sports' field - now constitute a choir.
They lift their candles, ready to retire.
Clear, soprano voices dust the rafters
Of the chapel as the choristers,
Unworldly in traditional attire,
Move slowly in procession through the door.
The moving ritual constricts my throat,
This Christmas message no-one could ignore
As out into the night the candles float
'Til, one by one, the boys are seen no more
And all the night gives back is one last note.