Christmas Eve at the Farm

December 10, 2008
By
(Based on the poem by Bill Watterson)

On Christmas Eve, the icy frost,
Leaves feathered patterns, crissed and crossed,
While in our house, the Christmas tree,
Is decorated festively.
With tiny dots of colored light,
That cozy up this chilly night,
Pops and hisses from the fire,
Mingle with the bells and choir.

At dinner now, we take a seat,
To laugh and chatter, joke and eat,
As sensuous smells waft ‘round our heads,
We marvel at the greens and reds,
Of all the wondrous sights we see,
Centered ‘round our lovely tree.

The house’s lights block out the stars,
Their radiance seen from near and far,
They light up night as if it’s day,
Folks come to see from far away.
These lights give off a magic glow,
We’re always sad to see them go.

Hours later, I’m in bed,
The pillows soft upon my head,
As Nat King Cole lulls me to sleep,
I close my eyes, while dreaming deep,
Content and happy, sure and safe,
Sleep closes in, a silent wraith,
Tomorrow’s what I’m waiting for,
But I can wait a little more.





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