My Gift.

 

I see and hear those Christmas bells,

The ones that crystaly peel and ring,

The words that echo Christmas tales,

A crooner, in white, may sing.

 

My walk takes me along a wonderland,

The covered mall, gaily strung,

Of lights and streamers, loosely hung,

A tree, or two, robed with golden garland.

 

I smell the sweet and scented fragrance,

The pine, the candle, and candied peel,

Of memories of yuletide elegance,

A table laid for that family meal.

 

My hands nestled deep in pockets frail,

A mantle, a cover against cold rain,

No longer a barrier for wet or pain,

The reflection in windows cries, to no avail.

 

I smile with the children a joy to behold,

The wonderment of a season, on faces,

Of young, and some who were told,

Of the gift of the Christ child, who gave.

 

I bring only greetings of love, and of peace,

The message always simple, appears to change,

Of the stories of Nicholas and one of a feast,

And the night before Christmas, so strange.

 

I wonder a little what this year will bring,

If a man and his sack are the most important thing,

Of letters, of lists, of the naughty and nice,

Where a stable and manger, are surrounded by light.

 

I remember the feelings of warmth on that day,

In a mother's bosom that smelt of the hay,

Of shepherds and wise men, who knelt where I lay,

Of the price of that birth that I was to pay.

 

I know in my heart my voice will reach out,

In the music, the songs, the hymns of praise,

To the ears and the minds of followers devout,

Whose love in My Father brings grace.

 

I walk upon my path, a journey of life,

I invite those who will join me to pay, to bring,

The joy of my giving to each who will sing,

And whose telling of the story, my price.