Christmas Is...

 

Christmas is a warm thing

by Shirley Powell McPhillips

 

Christmas is a warm thing, wrinkled or new;

A softness and bright lights all red, green, and blue;

A tingle, a tiptoe, a fire aglow;

All crispy and nippy-a snowflake and snow.

 

Christmas is tinsel, a present, a tree;

A crying and laughter, a giggle of glee;

Or quiet, a candle, a flicker of flame;

A whisper, a touch-the soft falling rain.

 

Christmas is good folks, old, young, the same;

Visitors and carols again and again;

A pudding, a plum, a goose full of fat;

A smelling, a stuffing of this, those, and that.

 

Christmas is a shepherd, a journey, a stall;

A mother's wee baby-a gift to us all-

A reverence, a service, a towering spire;

A feeling, a surging, a triumphant choir.

 

Christmas is everything, poorest or bare;

Richly ornated, embraced with care;

A vision for all or one hope, set apart;

A tree thing, a real thing that lives in my heart.