For weeks on end at Christmas tide,
cars and bikes crawl past each night.
Most all the town stops by to see
my neighbor's winning site.
Every trunk, twig and leaf is blazing
in strings, nets, and drapes of lights.
Gnomes and deer, canes and crèche,
snowmen, fairies, and Santas too.
But the twinkling blinking scene
beams a message they cannot read.
Viewers do not see its author -
in back, alone and out of sight.
Nor do they feel his silent pleading -
for approval that transcends his work.
They do not know he lights his lights
for a loved one - who will never see.