Frozen bells in a battered sleigh, Laughter echoes, thin as glass, Their smiles carved from frost, Their beards a tangle of snow and soot. Red robes gleam in streetlight haze, Waving hands like ghosts of cheer, While headlights burn the falling night, A crimson chariot bound for nowhere. The engine hums a hollow hymn, Windows streaked with melting stars, And through the silence, they ride— Saints of winter, saints of ruin.