My co-workers begin to ask which song
on early morning Christmas radio
which day to open Christmas studio
to hold onto these lyrics for so long.
Then pray upon our peaceful Thanksgiving
our praise upon a life that’s been well lived
our Turkey on the table well received
this Friday family caught in loving.
For afterwards we wait for the next day
the day our family calls day of the bin
where Christmas passed becomes reality.
Unpack where Christmas has been boxed away
where nearby children cannot hide their grin
to begin celebration’s Jubilee.
To peer inside where Christmas passed sits still
where neatly folded stockings wait for us
where Snowman Cookie Jar superfluous
to silver star wrapped tightly with some skill.
We begin early before our breakfast
to remove excess from our cluttered lives
and pull our joy from these dusty archives
where memories of seasons seem to last.
From phonograph we hear the “Gloria”
of chorus singing to heaven above
while holding ornament from birth of child.
So through the voice of solo aria
our Christmas lights reflect our tinsel love
my children like the lambs sit and stay mild.
Once every decoration finds a home
where Santa replaces household trinkets
to trade with golden seasonal tickets
of memories of winding roads we roam.
The family then finishes the tree
with ornaments collected from a life
from years of joy or years we felt deep strife
with lights and tinsel embrace what we see.
I find my daughter sleeping underneath
the crystal reflections from fake snowflake
will fall upon her peaceful sleepy brow.
To knock on door underneath pine cone wreath
the different colors Christmas love will make
as children smile underneath silver bough.
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