But comfortless sneezers puddle in pubs.
The robin looks in at the kitchen window
But all care huddles to hearths and kettles.
The sun lobs one wet snowball feebly
Grim and blue
The dusk of the coombe
And the swamp woodland
Sinks with the wren.
See old lips go purple and old brows go paler.
The stiff crow drops in the midnight silence.
Sneezes grow coughs and coughs grow painful.
The vixen yells in the midnight garden.
You wake with the shakes and watch your breathing
Smoke in the moonlight – silent, silent.
Your anklebone
And your anklebone
Lie big in the red.
Again, the terms of address to the reader are slightly strange. It’s not quite an imperative this time, but more of a forcing of a common experience onto the reader. It’s evidently a moment which the speaker of the poem has experienced, and in a way, the poem has been written to compel readers to this sort of realization. 
 ‘Silent’ is particularly stressed next to the loudness of all the Christmas traditions elsewhere in the poem– it overflows the usual ‘bob’ line. 

Christmas Card