By Iris W. Bray

Scenes of Christmas swiftly change,
They fade, like melting snow.
The season's joys too soon become
A hazy afterglow.

The festive lights are vanished;
Once splendid trees are bare;
Sacred chimes and carols
No longer fill the air.

Ornaments and keepsakes,
The wreath upon the door,
The tinsel and the trimmings
Are set aside to store.

All symbols of the season
Are packed and shelved to stay,
But the miracle that is Christmas
Cannot be tucked away!