The Sunday before Christmas, and all through the house,
The children are bouncing, all over the couch.
The presents were wrapped, with some noticable tears,
By the kids in hopes, to see what will be theirs.
The tree had fallen, and still laid on its back,
It’s Christmastime, there’s no use giving flake.
Daddy in jammies, and I on his lap,
We had just settled down, for a long night cap.
When out in the garden, I could see a body,
I strang from his lap, nearly spilling my toddy.
I tripped over the tree, creating a clatter,
No harm to me, but many ornaments did shatter.
Nose pressed to the window, and squinting to see,
I saw a lady, walking away with a tree.
Not understanding at all, what I just saw,
I decided to ignore, this women’s shortfall.
At Christmastime we plan, and prepared,
Barely acknowledging, those in despair.
In our world, where we are rich in family life,
I’m saddened by others, who have other plights.
I come back to Daddy, who is righting the tree,
Asking if the noise, woke our little three.
Up the stairs, we climb for a peak,
We find little angles, snoring asleep.
We stare at each other, with amazement and wonder,
At the gifts God has given us, but we no long ponder.
Children have made, our own world complete,
But we always liked it best, when they were fast asleep.
Merry Christmas to all to all good sleeps!
Helen Yoest is a garden writer and coach through her business Gardening with Confidence™
Follow Helen on Twitter @HelenYoest and her facebook friend’s page, Helen Yoest or Gardening With Confidence™ Face Book Fan Page.
Helen also serves on the board of advisors for the JC Raulston Arboretum