So close, just beyond this busy corner.
Has to be here somewhere.
I see the rushed paces, flushed faces;
Blank stares and unawares.
Happens every year, the fight to hear…
The little drummer boy, Angels on high,
My mother’s tired sigh.
Christmas past pasted
Like cards around doorways.
New pajamas, mistletoe,
And a ceramic manger made
By my godmother.
Call me sentimental,
But the collective memories
Settle on the tree, tinsel-like,
Does anyone use tinsel anymore?
I’m older now, as you gather.
I’ve got enough history
To fill a stocking anyway.
Midnight Mass, candles all around
The silent night of dreaming
Of peace and place and a Person.
All shall be merry,
And all manner of Christmas shall be merry.
“I Am the Light of the world.” Jesus