The Christmas Rose

The wind blew in squalls from a north east rain all wet, bitter and cold.

 Old folks like me now gathered together and swapped tales near the warmth of a stove.

The smell of sugar ham and biscuits teased our palates as it wafted through the air.

 The table was set, the small tree was trimmed and colorful presents were everywhere.

Everyone was here to celebrate together on this most beautiful Christmas day.

Yet though our tired eyes were worn by time, the atmosphere was still festive and gay.

On a chair one from the head of the large dining room table did I now sit.

I had moved up by steps of time through the years as they speed closer to the end.

With our heads now bowed and our eyes reverently closed,

We prayed a prayer of thanks for all that was given by the love He showed.

We laughed and joked, we had a grand old time.

Yet now with our bellies and hearts now plump and full,

We paused to think of those that were before, but remain now only in heart and mind.

The clock on the mantel ticking showed our day winding down and drawing to a close

And I now at last had the chance to spend some time with our Christmas Rose.

So to you Alexandria Rose I lift this cup on Christmas day

Merry First Christmas little baby…I am so glad you came.

J. Allen Wilson © TWELVE TWENTY-SIX 2006