The falling rhythm of icicles melting,
And of the words, each to drop in my heart.
I have not forgotten what had me looking,
At a Christmas tree, the lights and loving it.

When I was young, folding the book pages,
Then coloring those Christmas tree books.
When the notion is to have joy, opening stages,
Then quite peacefully, those popping up looks.

Just wait for the morning little one,
And of the day, each to drop in your heart.
Remembering not the lights, but hung,
As the way they were, crystal plums lark.

When I saw this morning, and knew for ages,
Then if what in my life, Christmas tree books.
When folding each page, each chapter, the changes,
Then it is shown for each fold, and how it looks.

This Christmas, in the giving and the hope,
And of the words in kindness to even spark.
Counting on more joy in our life, and to cope,
With all of but just one drop, from your heart.

©2007, Ron Globe