Poem written for Bible study Christmas do

‘Christmas isn’t what it used to be’

That’s what old folks used to say.

And now, grey-permed, joint-stiff, home-alone

I find it’s so.

Weary, but contented to let memory paint pictures

Of days that seemed permanently cold, as we dressed

Thumb-fumbling by the stove,

Bringing bulging, mysterious stockings

To open; wide-eyed at the tiny, innocent treats.

Then to church, blowing on mittened fingers,

‘Big’ presents of comic annuals, paints, dolls, yet unopened.

Home again for dinner – ‘here, you can help

Make bread sauce; stick cloves in this onion, so.’

Simple fare, but rare in its appearing only then:

The turkey, sprouts, coin-concealing pudding

Spread amidst happy, paper-hatted faces,

Even Grandpa white-haired and ruddy-cheeked,

Smiling now by the cave-pitted fire.

Those days, nostalgia’s bright offerings,

Smile at me,

Quietly, alone, but not lonely.

Because it seems, childish excitement long hushed,

I hear more clearly now,

The cry of a Jewish baby, long ago, but very near.