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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required What is Christmas? Written: By Tom Wright 1999 A time of many sights to see, Of tinsel, garland and wreath's so fair. Of hundreds of bulbs upon a tree, With twinkling lights and angel hair; A festive time with visions of Santa Claus, Of jingle bells, and distant sounds of sleighs. From the daily rush we're in, we pause, Reminiscing once more, our childhood days; The time for Eggnog and a comfy fire, Of the Christmas story and oft times games; Of peppermint canes, children never seem to tire, While scrutinizing a Yule log's flickering flames; A time for standing neath the Mistletoe, The singing of carols and children at play. A time of merriment and places to go, Many say this makes this holiday. For early mall arrival and long lines, To retrieve that last gift before we rest. Parking lot disagreements, fights and fines, We’re seeing free enterprise at its best. Of bells and kettles in the mall, With scent's of baked wares and pines; While searching for gifts for one and all, We encounter rudeness and sold out signs. Christmas can be these things, its true, But lest we forget this time of year; Let's look at things from a different view, As the birth date of the Christ Child dear; In a twinkling stars five points I see, Two arms, two legs, a head; I see the Cross-in a Christmas tree, Where a Savior hung and bled. In the manger scene I'm taken back, To the place the Christ child lay. I view the gifts in Santa's sack, As those the wise men brought that day. In a simple wreath of vines I see, The crown of thorns that Jesus, wore; Of a scourging he once took for me, And of man's sin that at Calvary He bore. Within each candle seen glowing bright, One thought invades my mind. That in my world He's still the light, God's largess, to all mankind; In a peppermint cane of white and red, Is seen a cadaver without sin. The crimson represents the blood he shed, So that man might be born again. Then staring into a Yule log set aflame, Unable to fathom the torment one will feel. If living life as though Jesus, never came, Only to discover at death, that hell is real. Merry Christmas Tom & Ernestine Wright
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