LADY SELECTING HER CHRISTMAS CARDS Fastidiously, with gloved and careful fingers, Through the marked samples she pursues her search. Which shall it be: the snowscape's wintry languors Complete with church. An urban skyline, children sweetly pretty Sledding downhill, the chaste ubiquitous wreath, Schooner or candle or simple Scottie With verse underneath? Perhaps it might be better to emblazon With words alone the stiff, punctilious square. (Oh, not Victorian certainly. This season One meets it everywhere.) She has a duty proper to the weather -- A Birth she must announce, a rumor to spread Wherefore the very spheres once sang together And a star shone overhead. Here are the tidings which the shepherds panted One to another, kneeling by their flocks. And they will bear her name (engraved, not printed), Twelve-fifty for the box. -- Phyllis McGinley was born in 1905 in Ontario, OR, lived in CO, UT, CA and NY, married Charles Hayden. She was an author, poetess, teacher and editor and won a Pulitzer for Light Verse. Her poetry reflects everyday life with affection and humour.