Sticky fingers, caked with dough
is something I remember
from another world of long ago
in yesterdayís December.
Memories of abundant smell,
of warm, moist holiday cakes
and joy that seemed to stretch and swell
with the falling of winter snow flakes.
And tables heaped high with pumpkin bread
and turkey, dressing and pie.
And me, I scurried into bed
as reindeer filled the sky.
A mantel of stockings in a row,
a hearth of cookies and milk.
And eyes shut tight as gentle snow
covered all with powder-like silk.
Mornings of wonder through sleepy eyes
and screams of childish delight,
while carols of angels filled the skies
and days broke joyous and bright.
These are but images of Christmases past
Iíve carried across these long years.
And Iím grateful that memories continue to last
bringing soft and bittersweet tears.
And so once again I find myself
with the shepherds on Bethlehemís hill,
while taking the manger off of the shelf
which gives my tired heart a thrill.
For Christmas reminds me, as always before
of wonder and dreams and cheer.
And I find in my heart, more things to adore
for the Kingdom of God has drawn near.
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