“The Christmas after my last (one) will be the best of all.”
I went to my room and wrote this poem in 20 minutes
Christmases Past
I now reflect upon the years
Of Christmases past.
Each one a happy, fleeting scene
Of memories fading fast.
Our youthful senses were engaged
In laughter and delight.
While darling Mama and Tata
Made our spirits bright.
A meager tree of wired twigs,
Its branches were adorned,
With bits of brightly colored string,
Buttons and acorns.
These precious moments were to me,
As seeds to starving sparrows,
As were the sounds of mama’s voice,
Singing Christmas carols.
The older that I finally grew,
So wise in what was cool,
I often found I did ignore,
Life’s most impressive jewel.
The joy of being truly loved,
Above all living things,
By my mother and my father,
Those wisest of all beings.
Christmas comes this year again,
Its joy a little tired.
I long to be with both of them,
As I rest here by the fire.
Like a silent siren’s haunting voice,
I feel their spirits calling.
Come be with us my precious child,
Your winter’s night is falling.
I see the children trimming trees,
While I sing my Christmas carols.
I decorate with loving hands,
And feed my starving sparrows.
Such joy there was in Christmas past.
Such joy I’ll know again.
The Christmas Day after my Last,
Will be the best of them.
