Anchored in Guanabara Bay
rowing ashore most curious
The mouth of the Rio de Janeiro
home to the Tupi Temiminós
From the cornucopia
of Verzin’s fair utopia
The wealth of God’s grand grace is splayed
for daily needs and worthwhile trade
“Merry Christmas
ye five who run
your grand journey
has but begun” –
Ghost of Christmas number one
Conceived by eleven thousand virgins
three born from this grand island’s core
And with this miraculous emergence
the Magnus Sinus is no more
Tomorrow was like yesterday
same sun, same sky, same nebulae
Set in the welkin’s nocturnal gloss
four gemstones set like our Lord’s cross
“Merry Christmas
as ye three crews
have penance done
and more yet must do” –
Sprite of Yuletide number two
Barely left the Moluccas
and the Trinidad in dire distress
Thus our figure of good fortune
swells o’er nine months of loneliness
“Merry Christmas
your lone sails swell
from the Banda Sea
back home through Hell” –
Hear the Ghost of Christmas
See the Sprite of Yuletide
Feel the Phantom of the third Noël