The jingling bells ring a monotone so pure,
human distinction can't reproduce for sure,
it runs through the veins and into the soul,
and plunges deep, this aint something foul.

The stringent chords do strike a rhyme,
and make records, with tide and time,
yet, they blare rudely on those timid hearts
and burst their little shafts, they are bygone charts.

Yet there is some music, supra naturally great,
the one with neither a beginning nor an end,on slate,
the body like a feather, bows sublimely to its date,
the show goes on and on ... it never gets late !