I have few fond memories of Xmas, not because of a lack of gifts or food. There just seems to be something sad and unsettling about it for me. The toys I received in this poem when I was seven were gladly accepted, I didn’t complain at all. There were times when Spam was meat of the day, it didn’t matter. Even though we lived in the north of England I only remember one white Xmas day. My favourite Xmas was when my son sat on the floor and watched as we decorated his first tree. I never spoiled him although he received nice presents and never went without. In the weeks leading up to Xmas I feel a great sadness descending, an aura of gloom envelopes me. When I hear Silent Night being sung I can’t stop the tears. Definitely a sad state of affairs. I do hope you enjoy the poem.
Memories of Christmas Past.
Silvery moonlight on window pane.
I’m wishing for snow, we’ll get rain.
Coal smoke from chimneys near and far
hides the brilliant Christmas star.
Waiting on the landing, trembling, cold
what will this Christmas morn unfold.
Standing quietly at the parlour door,
reflections of firelight on polished floor.
The day brings good cheer and delight,
baubles on tree, reflecting, bright.
This year, no cold hearth mocking.
Instead, there hangs a bulging stocking.
A grey school sock I used to wear
filled with an orange, plums and a pear.
Pulling out sweets I reach right down
it must be Christmas, there’s half a crown.
A pillowcase sits beneath the tree
full of presents, all for me.
Cast-offs from a cousin, I’ve never met,
tin toy cars and a meccano set.
The years since I’ve seen better, and worse.
Some were a blessing, others a curse.
They’ve come and gone and years go by.
Yet, as each appears I sit and cry.
Laurie Smith© 2013