In the season of snow and ice they come,
When we celebrate the coming of God’s own Son.
Their cheeks all rosy from the winter breeze,
Full of new ideas and memories.
Their activities surround me like whirling snow,
Enlivening a world that’s become—a little—more slow.
As through my duties—shared—I hum;
I marvel at what they’ve become.
As in my childhood, the world holds a thrill,
The lights on the tree, the sleds on the hill.
A real live wonder of Christmas joys,
Young men and women become girls and boys.
I thank God more than I can tell;
We didn’t raise them half this well.
In my heart, the bells of Christmas chime,
“It’s coming home for Christmas” time.
You’ve given hope of Heaven by Your birth
And a little bit of Heaven here on Earth.
©2010 Carol Morfitt