‘Tis the Season for Folly and Madness – A Christmas Poem

A Christmas Poem

‘Tis the season for folly and madness, holly and gladness

Elation, recreation, relaxation, and sometime just a bit of arbitration

Guests arrive, guests depart, the hour is late, and it’s getting near dark

Stockings hung in perfect rows, windowsills that are filled with snow

Laughing children now starting to yawn, eyes a-closing afore too long

Bright colored gifts piled high all around; minutes tick by with nary a sound

At last the house is finally ours alone, our little kingdom and our little throne

The queen my wife, and the king, that’s me, waiting next to the big pine tree

Sleeping angels give us heavenly pause; each likely dreaming of seeing Santa Claus

Admiring their sleeping faces glowing; the moment is precious, but we need to get going;

Gently lift them up and carry them to bed; smoothing delicate hairs on their heads

Tucking and smoothing the flannel and sheet, a kiss on the head and things are complete

When the silence is certain, we tiptoe away; with lingering smiles we leave the doorway

Each step a whisper as we return to the tree; arranging the gifts we want them to see

Eggnog and cookies wait near on the shelf, a nip and a snack for the jolly old Elf

Outside the silence of white falling snow, while lights in the distance make everything glow

The embers are warm but the flames very low; the hour is late and now we must go

Off to bed for a slumber, one short but quite sweet, our work here is done, call it complete

Clasping hands, to our room we did glide, imagining the faces and mouths opened wide

Sugar plum dreams are lovely and sweet, but the gifts and elation are the real Christmas treat

Morning erupts with a flurry of joy, presents and treats for each girl and each boy

Waiting is over, there’s no more count down, torn ribbon and paper bringing smiles all around

Every gift perfect, every card message grand, a great celebration, exactly as planned

My eyes on my wife and her jubilant smile, as moments like these come but once in a while

Everyone happy, and each child satisfied; with so much love everywhere, I nearly did cry

Christmas joy is sacred; not easily equaled; except for next year, when we see the sequel

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R J Schwartz

I write about everything and sometimes nothing at all.I'm fascinated by old things, rusty things, abandoned places, or anywhere that a secret might be unearthed.I'm passionate about history and many of my pieces are anchored in one concept of time or another.I've always been a writer, dating back to my youth, but the last decade has been a time of growth for me.I'm continually pushing the limitations of vocabulary, syntax, and descriptive phrasing.

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