The Christmas Thing.

By Alison December 20, 2006 1 Comment 1 Min Read


My grandmother sat
On Christmas morning
Mending overalls.
A tall tree glittered,
A hen was roasting,
And the room was merry
With dolls and balls,
So why was she mending
The air is magic
On Christmas morning
And it isn’t a time
For doing chores.
We had given her
A brooch that glittered
After anxious searchings
Of ten cent stores
So why was she working
At everyday chores?
I didn’t know then
But I learned much later
That Christmas magic
Goes through and through
The fabric of living
Love, threading her needle,
Made mending
The Christmas-thing to do.

Jane Merchant.

1 Comment

  1. La Chouette says:

    What a pretty poem! Thank you Alison, it's very comforting. I think you are a wonderful person: nothing but good things can happen in the next year. I wish you a very pretty Christmas with Finley and your family.

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