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What is it?
Is it the glistening skies?
Flamed by bright, blinding lights?
The mistletoe hung in crowds?
Sparking red cheeks around, laughter booming so loud.
What is it?
Could it be gifts aplenty?
Bought with many new pennies?
The angry shopper relay?
Shouts of: “Look at all that we saved!” and “Get out of my way!”
Or, is it the dazzling night star?
Reflecting heaven afar?
A weeping babe like a dream,
Refracting men to their knee, with royal seams in their gene.
What is it?
Could it be Jesus Christ?
Who gave man back his sight?
Weeping babes he did comfort,
Grew hope in the hopeless, when he was himself homeless.
What is it?
What if it was Jesus Christ?
The soul that gave us new life?
Bought with pain and great strife,
A present ever returning, leaving speculators concerning,
That their gifts are unworthy.
If it is such as that,
And not just a fancy new hat,
Then what it is,
Is something I’ll call – Christmas.
Copyright: KJ Heier, 2011
Copyright: KJ Heier, 2011
