Just Believe

Merry Christmas......

Christmas Time .....

Christmas Is For Sharing

by Poet deVine

I turned out the lights and lit the tree, Then settled back, just Rover and me. The family is scattered here and there, Christmas is lonely . . . but I don't really care. No noisy unwrapping of gifts will I hear, No stacks of dishes after dinner this year. The lights flicker, the tinsel gleams, The perfect Christmas eve, or so it seems. Then at my door came a timid tapping, Startled, I jumped, as though I was napping. I opened the door and to my amazement, A small crowd stood on my front pavement. An old man, wrinkled and gray, Stepped forward as though he had something to say. We thank you kindly for having us To share the joy your Christmas. I stepped back and they filed past, There were eighteen people, from first to last. The laughter welled up as they settled down, They looked at my face, and saw my grim frown. You want us here, don't you sir? Asked a child quietly, as they began to stir. Well, I don't know, I started to say, Then wondered, why not? It's almost Christmas day. I had no turkey with them to share So I fixed what I had - they didn't care. Hamburgers, hot dogs, tuna casserole too. I even served a can of Spam or two. After we ate, they began to sing, And suddenly, you know, it was the strangest thing - The tree seemed brighter, the air more clear.. I began to fill up with holiday cheer. I dug in the closet for discarded clothes, For books and toys - I'd always kept those. I handed them out, a smile on my face, I really never had such joy in this place. I settled them down - wherever - to bed . . . A child's prayer was softly being said. The lights on the tree reflected the glow Of the happiest Christmas I'll ever know. I awoke from the dream to find myself alone . . I immediately jumped up and reached for the phone. I dialed quickly, my heart beating fast. The true joy of Christmas, I'd found at last. You see, no matter how little you give, It brings joy to those with no place to live. So open your home and open your heart Christmas is . . . the place to start.

Christmas by John Betjeman

The bells of waiting Advent ring,
The Tortoise stove is lit again
And lamp-oil light across the night
Has caught the streaks of winter rain.
In many a stained-glass window sheen
From Crimson Lake to Hooker's Green.

The holly in the windy hedge
And round the Manor House the yew
Will soon be stripped to deck the ledge,
The altar, font and arch and pew,
So that villagers can say
'The Church looks nice' on Christmas Day.

Provincial public houses blaze
And Corporation tramcars clang,
On lighted tenements I gaze
Where paper decorations hang,
And bunting in the red Town Hall
Says 'Merry Christmas to you all'

And London shops on Christmas Eve
Are strung with silver bells and flowers
As hurrying clerks the City leave
To pigeon-haunted classic towers,
And marbled clouds go scudding by
The many-steepled London sky.

And girls in slacks remember Dad,
And oafish louts remember Mum,
And sleepless children's hearts are glad,
And Christmas morning bells say 'Come!'
Even to shining ones who dwell
Safe in the Dorchester Hotel.

And is it true? and is it true?
The most tremendous tale of all,
Seen in a stained-glass window's hue,
A Baby in an ox's stall?
The Maker of the stars and sea
Become a Child on earth for me?

And is it true? For if it is,
No loving fingers tying strings
Around those tissued fripperies,
The sweet and silly Christmas things,
Bath salts and inexpensive scent
And hideous tie so kindly meant.

No love that in a family dwells,
No carolling in frosty air,
Nor all the steeple-shaking bells
Can with this single Truth compare -
That God was Man in Palestine
And lives to-day in Bread and Wine.