Wednesday Poem: T’was a Week Before Christmas ~ Sandra Lee Smith

week-before-christmas

T’was a Week Before Christmas

T’was a week before Christmas
And all through the house
Gift-wrap was littered, it
Even covered a Spouse,
Who sat forlorn in his old easy chair,
wondering if there was
An extra cookie to spare –
For cookies were baked
And filled every tin
But to eat even one
Would be considered a sin –
(Unless it was one that was broken or burned);
Decorations hung everywhere that you turned.

In the guest room presents were piled everywhere,
And trees were put up, not a moment to spare –
Twinkling lights and ornaments too,
But it will look pretty when we’re all through –
I’ve scorched all my fingers giving candy a test
And thought it was time that I had a good rest;
When out on the roof there arose such a clatter,
I dashed to the door to see what was the matter;
Up on a ladder, Grandpa swayed to and fro –
Trying to decide where the reindeer should go –
I was sure he would fall and smash all the lights
I shouted come down and we’ll fix it all right!

The dollhouse is back where it belongs
And hundreds of Cds play holiday songs,
Pork loin’s in the freezer and wood on the fire,
Eggnog in the fridge we hope will inspire –
But if not there is brandy, bourbon and port,
To serve every guest who is a good sport;
We’ll work at it all til we fall with a jerk
And let Santa get credit for all our hard work!

Sandra Lee Smith

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The Littlest Christmas Tree ~ Amy Peterson

Christmas tree on a plate

The Littlest Christmas Tree

The littlest Christmas tree,
lived in a meadow of green,
Among a family,
of tall evergreens,
He learned how to whisper,
the evergreen song,
with the slightest of wind,
that came gently along.

He watched as the birds,
made a home out of twigs,
and couldn’t wait till,
he too was big.
For all of the trees,
offered a home,
the maple, the pine, and the oak,
who’s so strong.

“I hate being little”,
the little tree said,
“I can’t even turn colors,
like the maple turns red”,
“I can’t help the animals,
like the mighty old oak”,
“He shelters them all,
in his wide mighty cloak”.

The older tree said,
“Why little tree you don’t know?
The story of a mighty king,
from the land with no snow?”
Little tree questioned,
“A land with no snow?”
“Yes!” said old tree,
“A very old story,
from so long ago”.

“A star appeared,
giving great light,
over a manger,
on long winters night.
A baby was born,
a king of all kings,
and with him comes love,
over all things.”

“He lived in a country,
all covered in sand,
and laid down his life,
to save all of man.’

Little tree thought of the gift
given by him,
then the big tree said with the
happiest grin,
“We’re not just trees,
but a reminder of that day,
there’s a much bigger part,
of a role that we play!”

“For on Christmas eve,
my life I’ll lay down,
in exchange for a happier,
loving ground.
And as I stand dying,
they’ll adorn me in trim,
this all will be done,
in memory of him”.

“Among a warm fire,
with family and friends,
in the sweet songs of Christmas,
I’ll find my great end,
then ever so gently,
he’ll come down to see,
and take me to heaven,
Jesus and me”.

“So you see little tree,
we are not like the oak,
who shelters all things,
beneath his great cloak.
Nor are we like the maple
in fall,
whose colors leave many,
standing in awe”.

“The gift that we give,
is ourselves, limb for limb,
the greatest of honor,
in memory of him”.

The little tree bowed,
his head down and cried,
and thought of the king,
who willingly died.
For what kind of gift,
can anyone give?
Then to lay down your life,
when you wanted to live.

A swelling of pride
came over the tree,
Can all of this happen?
Because of just me?
Can I really bring honor?
By adorning a home?
By reminding mankind,
that he’s never alone?

With this thought, little tree,
began singing with glee,
Happy and proud,
to be a true Christmas tree.

You can still hear them singing,
even the smallest in height,
singing of Christmas,
and that one holy night.

Amy Peterson

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