Thanksgiving napkins were put away. The holders on the table stayed. Soon the silver fingers were seen holding folds of red and green. The turkey made of paper brown from the front door was taken down. 

Its hanging hook left to hold. Salutations from verses old. A cornucopia the table graced. Now holly candles take its place. Surrounded by snowflake mats, replacing those with pilgrim hats. Pie plates now empty and still. Again the coming days would fill.  And dishes stored with edges blue made way for those of brighter hue. 

Mantle memories aside they lay, making room for deer and sleigh. And shifting over the old I van made a spot where the tree would stand.  And old attic boxes taken down, Christmases of the past were found. And from the backyard storage shed grew a front porch manger bed. November blew the odd trees bare.

But soon December white they'd wear, and in a season growing cold, it's Christmas, and a never changing story told. 

A short distance from my beach house door,  
the surf seized a bottle and tossed it on the shore.  
Old Dog, Ziggy, and I on our daily walk, hearing the morning talk,  
I saw the sunlit bottle with a rolled up note inside, 
and wondered what was sent on the early morning tide.  

I picked up the bottle sunken in the sand,  
and read its cryptic note trembling in my hand. 

Whoever finds this bottle, one wish be granted thee.  

I thought about the wish, and how good my life had been,  
and said to myself, what more could a granted wish lend?  
So I rolled up the note  and placed it back inside,  
and threw the bottle back to the outgoing tide.

 Now let me tell you in this season of cheer, 
of gifts received throughout the year.  
The breeze that turned my whirligig's wings,  
carried the fragrance of lilacs in spring.  
A tall cluster of tulips, yellow and red,  
stout sentinels on their mounded bed.  
And the quiet evening when I heard the murmuring note of a cooing bird,  
and saw before the light was gone the singer of that evening song. 

The red roses in June that came and set my wooded trellis aflame,  
that caught and widened the eyes of friends and neighbors passing by.  
The sea spray that cooled my heated brow, blown over the rail of a plunging bow. 

And the orange sunrise peeking over the bay,
that came up and took my breath away.  
A dark night with stars far as I could see,  
I made a wish on one winking back at me.
For a starlight shining through time and space 
to fall upon my loved one's face. 

The snow and smell of burning wood that drifted down to where I stood,  
beside the snow capped lantern light, breathing in the beauty of a winter night.  Of all gifts given large and small, the one that's greatest of them all 
was born in a stable neath a star bright  
years ago on that first Christmas night. 

From the warm kitchen of my friend B,  
A gift of fruitcake was given to me.  
Now a fruitcake buyer I've never been,  
A fruitcake taster, yes, now and then.  
Beneath its rum soaked cover 
The cake I sought 
Drew a slice and thought,  
What makes this the best of all the rest 
Is that special ingredient, 
Thoughtfulness.

Has it been so very long ago?  
In your lifetime and mine,  
we've forgotten what it was like to be a child at Christmastime.  

Remember how our small world changed as it started turning red and green?  
And there were boxes and bags not supposed to be seen.  
Things came out we remembered seeing the same time a year before. 
Holly trays and a brown acorn wreath that Dad hung up on our front door.  

Smells grew sweeter, doorways tingled, windows with spray can ice.  
And a lot seemed to depend on If we were naughty or nice.  
And Christmas sounded different too. 
And in the air we'd hear Santa songs, bells, and choirs we hadn't heard all year. 

There was a straw covered stable with animals and figures growing worn 
who would wait with us for a babe to be born.  
Night there were many shining lights just as far as we could see.  
And in the front room corner stood a brightly covered tree.  

At last, Christmas Eve and snow came. 
With Santa's lunch made and stockings hung, 
we hurried off to bed 
to find the hottest night to sleep had come. 

If we listened very carefully, we could just begin to hear 
the sound of tiny neck bells on Santa's eight reined ear.  
Though tucked in bed, 
we were sure we could see 
his fast moving sleigh
round the old chestnut tree.

We drifted off to dreamy sleep, while wondering if our home he'd find.  
It's good to recall what it was like 
to be a child 
at Christmas time.

Perhaps you could explain to me 
a phenomenon I often see. 
When driving through a city or town 
where road crosses and jaywalkers abound.

This is the question I ask  
When you stop your car to let them pass  
Why do the young with bodies strong and sneaked feet 
take so long to cross the street?  
And haven't the strength the good God gave 
to raise a hand in a thank you wave? 

But the old, who are bent and gray, 
rustle and run to get out of your way,  
and raise a thank you cane, or give you a nod.  

Now isn't that odd? 
   

You can sit by a fire on a cold winter night,  
lie in the sun when the weather's right.  
You can warm your hands where the wood stove glows,  
adorn a cozy coat when the west wind blows.  

But no greater warmth will you come to know 
than that which comes from watching your little child grow.  
What you cannot do,  although at times you try,  
is to keep those young years 
from passing on by.   

It was a cold Christmas Eve,  and I was very young.  
The Grange Hall tree was lit, and old time carols were sung.  
It was there that I saw Jenny in the glow of candlelight,  
pouring hot cider for the folks gathered there that night.  

Oh, we fell in love and dreamed what the future might bring. 
Our wedding day, tiny tots, a farm with fruitful plantings in spring.  
We were poor country folk with days hard and long working the fields,  
praying for a good crop the fall harvest would yield.  
At last our wedding day arrived. 
A wonderful day,  for one thing. 
 I had just enough for the parson's fee, 
but for my Jenny, no wedding ring. 

The years passed by, three boys and a girl she'd bear,  
a loving mother and wife. Yet, for my loving Jenny, still no ring to wear.  
As hot as it was, I struggled to save. I worked extra on old Jed's farm.  
I helped at the county store. and repaired my neighbor's barn.  
Our holidays were simple, but this coming Christmas would bring, 
along with thoughts of a manger birth, 
my loving Jenny's wedding ring.