In honor of the Westchester Conference going on right now, I'd like to post this stanza from this particularly accompished poem,"Toward the Winter Solstice," by Timothy Steele :

"Friends, passing home from work or shopping, pause
And call up commendations or critiques.
I make adjustments. Though a potpourri
Of Muslims, Christians, Buddhists, Jews, and Sikhs,
We all are conscious of the time of year;
We all enjoy its colorful displays
And keep some festival that mitigates
The dwindling warmth and compass of the days."

It's a classic! It's a good thing we have Steele to rescue us from the metrical "mistakes" of Pound and Williams.