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I remember, I remember, when I was just a child,
The happiness of Christmas, and my own Mother, mild.
My Brother, and my Sister, and me, the children three,
We'd squeal and shout with laughter, and trim the Christmas Tree.
We all wrote notes to Santa, then gave them straight to Dad,
Who said he'd have them posted, just like he always had.
Our Mother looked all rosy, and flushed, on Christmas Day,
Especially when the Pudding was all steaming on the tray.
It seems a million years ago; now I'm the Mother, mild,
And I'll give all I have, and more, to my own precious child.
That must have been how Mary felt, so many years ago,
No Tinsel, Notes, or Turkey; just Love, amidst the snow.
by
Shirley Frances Winskill 1987
In Loving Memory of My Mother and Father
