Each year at this time, I pull up this poem on my screen and revise it.
Sadly, the last verse never changes.
Snow at Christmas
by Glenda C. Beall
Silent December snow covers
grey mountain forests, clings
to thin bare branches of oaks,
poplar and ash.
It mounds on brown wide leaves
still hanging on to stubborn trees
that, until now, denied winter’s presence.
Holly bushes crowned with snow
create photo ops for Christmas cards.
Rooftops iced in white, frosted
gingerbread houses, await
Santa's footsteps.
Red ribbons on our mailbox
collect crystal flakes
within curving bows,
on bunched pine boughs.
Kayla hangs her stocking, dreams
of Barbie dolls, gift wrapped boxes
piled high beneath her brilliant
Christmas tree.
We light a candle in the snow.
Pray for children around the world,
who long for peace, a cup of rice,
an end to fear and
war.
Sadly, the last verse never changes.
Snow at Christmas
by Glenda C. Beall
Silent December snow covers
grey mountain forests, clings
to thin bare branches of oaks,
poplar and ash.
It mounds on brown wide leaves
still hanging on to stubborn trees
that, until now, denied winter’s presence.
Holly bushes crowned with snow
create photo ops for Christmas cards.
Rooftops iced in white, frosted
gingerbread houses, await
Santa's footsteps.
Red ribbons on our mailbox
collect crystal flakes
within curving bows,
on bunched pine boughs.
Kayla hangs her stocking, dreams
of Barbie dolls, gift wrapped boxes
piled high beneath her brilliant
Christmas tree.
We light a candle in the snow.
Pray for children around the world,
who long for peace, a cup of rice,
an end to fear and
war.
