A child's awe of Christmas time,
The snow, the fire, the smell of pine.
I remember,
Sweet Decembers,
When all the world could still be mine.
When grown-up things were abstract dangers,
Put some hay in church-side mangers,
The future bright,
What may and might,
When fear and heartbreak still were strangers.
I see the lights still on the tree,
Cocoa then, instead of tea.
The sights and smells,
The silver bells,
All right there, where they ought to be.
A gift for sister, Mom, and Dad,
When arts and crafts were all we had.
Carols sung,
Lights were hung,
We'd rise together, pajama-clad.
Unwrap the presents, save the bows,
Say a prayer for others' woes.
Steal sister's toys,
Such simple joys,
And pretend a child never grows.
But time has flown, been lost and spent,
And I wonder where the magic went.
For I remember,
Sweet Decembers,
And all the things that Christmas meant.
