It wasn’t beneath the tree #Christmas #giving #poetry


beneath the tree

we rarely had a tree

 if we did it was made from pine cones

once my mom made one from tissue paper

it wasnt what was under the tree

it was

a

magic

colorful

 golden glow

perhaps angels

rested for a moment

caroling down our chimney

 maybe the  spirit of Christmas knew

as   the   winds   blew   that   we   had   little

but

warmth and hope

*

I’d  scrape my meager earnings as a babysitter

she wouldn’t eat lunch for months

we looked eagerly for discounts

Christmas Eve

 we would fill our little car

with  bags of groceries

one special gift for each family member on the list

I always delivered the gifts personally

I loved to see

Christmas wonder

in the children and parent’s eyes

on Christmas morning we could almost hear the squeals of joy

 the crunch of red and green paper

“Merry Christmas, Mama”

“Merry Christmas child” she said

as the spirit of Christmas warmed our souls

*

This is dedicated to the people who freely give to others. I have, too many times to recall, been the recipient of  kindness during the holiday season. I hope each of you can experience the warm spirit of Christmas this year!

Published by moondustwriter

Thank you for visiting Moondustwriter. One of the many exciting things I've had the honor of doing is writing with an E. African team that is developing elementary curriculum for African children. As a writer, it is a thrill to help children (on all continents) who want to learn. I've been part of the blogging community for more than 10 years. Some old timers may remember the award winning (2011 Twitter Shorty ) blog community - One Stop Poetry. I was the co-producer of that fast growing blog community. I am a published writer, poet, artist and photographer. I have written, as well as edited, for periodicals, radio, blogs and fellow writers. There are many facets to this moon - thanks for stopping by.

7 thoughts on “It wasn’t beneath the tree #Christmas #giving #poetry

  1. Giving is immensely more satisfying than receiving a gift any time of the year. Growing up in East Texas, it always seemed that those who had less always found a way to give something to those who had nothing.

    Like

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