Gingerbread Boys And The Babe

When I see snowflakes falling
outside my kitchen window,
and watch the birds winging South,
I know that Yuletide's here.
Cozy crackles reverberate
from my stockinged hearth;
the star atop my tree winks and blinks.
I am enclosed, safe and warm,
inside my domestic cocoon of comfort.

My kids are gone now,
building Christmas memories
with their own little ones.
I am not sad, but old traditions die hard.
I begin to bake,
cookies, cakes, and pies;
things they used to love.

I think of the Babe in a manger,
who had no home.
Was He warm, I wonder,
wrapped in swaddling clothes?

Then it comes to me:
The star of Bethlehem
gave Him more warmth
than my stockinged hearth
could ever provide.

With childlike exuberance,
I sculpt happy-faced gingerbread boys,
in tempo with some old Mitch Miller tunes.

Copyright 1998 Ruth Gillis

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