Hope in Winter
Two months of windy cold and rain
became a crystal blue surprise
on Christmas day.
Clear now and warming,
the prodigal sun wakes the yaupons
and the live oaks
and the pines, granting each
a slightly brighter flush of green.
They stretch and vainly pose
in the unexpected light,
impudently dare the soon returning gray
with how their freshened colors shine.
Rocking in the breeze they seem
almost like children at play
on the beach in summertime.
Copyright 2008 – Softwood: Seventy-eight Poems, Gary B. Fitzgerald
Many Yuletides I have seen,
but different Christmases have they been,
for Christmas changes through the years,
as all things change. As we.
Mountains and stars, perhaps, and change
are all that never change,
for people change, and lives will change and Christmas, too.
It appears to us an unchanging thing. Like the Winter,
returns each year, returned before our lives began
and when we're gone, come back again
for the yet unborn, but they as well
in time will learn that Christmas changes.
As do we.
Once Christmas was a mystery of wonderment and joy,
a festival of presents, of Santa Claus and toys,
a time when fondest wishes were fulfilled and
dreams came true; but Christmas, too, has changed,
as all things will. As you.
We grow older and the mysteries soon pass:
how reindeer fly and Santa fits the chimney.
We forget the blinking lights and ringing bells,
forget the secrets we could never see, the innocence so pure.
Then mysteries were soon replaced by magic,
for Christmas Eve is ever magic still;
sugarplums and gifts become the Christmas spirit,
migrated from the hearts of children
to the minds of those mature, became Peace on Earth,
goodwill, the singing of the angels, though never really sure,
for we could never hear it.
We seek then the meaning of Christmas,
and within it that of ourselves.
But now, I saw, that through the years
Christmas changed again,
and became a time for family,
for those now old and far beyond the mystery
and magic, became practical and pragmatic,
a time together to share our love and lives, now static;
became a decorated tree (for traditions's sake),
for ancient carols that all can sing
and an afternoon of turkey.
And the years go by and change is constant still.
More change each year and all things pass. As we.
The years go by and stars and even mountains die
and Christmas changes too, has changed for me;
has turned from joy to merely sadness,
to memories remembered in place of those once grown,
changed from magical to mundane,
from miracles and mysteries to emptiness profound,
to pain, to Christmas Past, for Christmas changes.
But now new children hear the song
and fresh bells ring, and look, it's snowing!
Again the mystery makes small eyes wide,
with gifts home-made or gifts we've bought,
but now it's I who's Santa Claus, bringing presents
and Ho-Ho-Ho-ing. It's come full circle, to joy again,
to wonder and to mystery and perhaps, after all,
it's just we that change and Christmas
that does not.
Copyright 2005 – Evolving: Poems 1965 – 2005, Gary B. Fitzgerald
Dec/25/2013, 6:03 pm
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Re: Merry Christmas
Merry Christmas to you, Gary! Thank you for these beautiful poems. Hope all's well,
Dec/26/2013, 10:08 am
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