I’m afraid my Christmas spirit has fizzled just like those blow-up Santas and snowmen people put in their front yards at this time of year that lie in airless puddles each morning.
Trying to come up with something to write about, I got some old photo albums that I hoped might inspire me. Much to my surprise, one of them turned out to be full of poems composed by my mother that I hadn’t read in years.
Unlike the doggerel verse I write, my mother’s poetry was… what shall I say, serious? Much of it she successfully published. When I came upon a poem she’d written about Christmas, I realized it expressed the same sort of feelings I’m having about this season, so… no column this week, but best wishes for a joyful Christmas.
Alice Dickinson Robinson
Dear Lord, forgive the clutterings we strew
Across an hour that once was clean and bare;
The gilt and tinsel trappings hang anew
Upon a truth so humbly nurtured there;
Forgive the meaning lost, the word mislaid
In all the fevered rush of this bazaar
And quicken foolish children who have made,
With backs to heaven, a wistful paper star.
The Three are gone; so many men are wise;
Half-heartedly, confused by myriad ways
We face the East – The wonder-flooded skies
Are dark… we rest upon our shallow days.
Forgive that we are sheep who nibble sod
And not the Shepherd, searching out his God.
A JOYFUL CHRISTMAS
AND A PROSPEROUS 2013