Like
asking which of your children you love the most
There was the first Christmas
when I was the prince
unknowing head of the grand-kids brigade
There was Christmas in Maine
warm house a
turkey
a small model train
There was grandparents Christmas
loving old man
silvery woman
polished wood floors
light in the windows
There was growing boys Christmas
with pairs of real skis
endless days in the snow for my brother and I
There were years of dark Christmas
not too many I guess
sitting in quiet and counting the losses
There were Christmases
children
my wife’s loving tree
home-made decorations placed to cement
our hearts to our family
to ancient ancestors
to dim winter evenings
to bonding of campfires
after a low-passing
sun has gone down
now Christmas is lights
strung up on the houses
ornaments carefully tended and hung
and after all of the parties have passed
along with the crowded living room mornings
Christmas comes as it will year after year
and rests on our shoulders a dusting of snow
© Frank Kearns 2016
