golden slumbers shimmer over youthful minds on soft pillows. parcels waiting, the light of morning is anticipated with short breaths and restless bodies, a far-off red ribbon at the end of a grassy track. and still, not a thought is given to those for whom the night is simply darkening day, those whose hearts leap at some discarded cardboard with fewer holes than the last. they will not open gifts, they will not eat until their stomachs swell. they will not sing.