Darren Weeks
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Sunday, July 22nd, 2018

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My Christmas Wish


A poem by Darren Weeks


Darkness envelopes the frosty night;
Winter's cold delivers its bite.
While towns adorn their glowing lights,
Shoppers hustle, and merchants delight.
Fragrant aromas fill the home,
As cakes are baking in the stove.
Children gather at the tree,
Wondering what presents Santa will bring.
The stockings are stuffed, the morning is here.
Voices from close and far draw near.
A baby cries, the children play, excitement reigns,
It's Christmas Day!

But in the frantic preparation,
I fear the utmost abdication!
Amidst the tinsel, turkey and ham,
Is something missing, sir or ma'am?
The bread and gravy, on the table, are spread;
While spirited conversations are said.
Festive paper is strewn 'cross the floor;
Bags of opened goodies galore!

Candid yams and nutmeg pies,
Cookies with sprinkles delight the eyes.
A gleeful chorus, melodies of bliss,
Carols are sung: 'Tis Christmas!

But 'neath the wine and jubilant song,
A tiny feeling that something is wrong.
Tho' bellies are stuffed so full they're round,
The Provider of all is no where to be found!
Sorrow tears and broken hearts,
As friends and loved ones begin to part.
A mournful hug, a kiss, a tear;
A promise to see them all next year.

Farewells end with the last goodbye,
And slumber approaches ever nigh.
Dreams prance, as in bed they lie,
Yet, something — or someone — never entered their minds.
Over two-thousand years ago,
A Babe was born, humble and low.
Amongst cattle he slept; there was no room for Him,
This Child and His parents weren't allowed in the Inn.
The shepherds came from near and from far,
Having received the news to follow the star.
Gave they gifts of gold and frankincense,
But the greatest gift, is what He would give them.
For this Infant Child, born on that day,
Who slept in a stable 'mongst horses and hay,
'Twas this little newborn who would take our place,
He was sent from Heaven to redeem us with grace.
Hence, as your celebrations, commence;
With ribbons, bows, and ornaments,
It is this writer's wish, before your dear ones depart,
You'll remember 'tis not Christmas, without Christ in your hearts.

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