Ladened boughs hold the snow,
and the season can begin.
for the falling shadows know,
that itís Christmas time again.
Silver bells and stockings hung,
glistening prints on windowpanes,
wishes rest on every tongue,
every child's promise reigns.
Delighted voices, frozen creeks,
all the sleds on every hill,
and upon the rosy cheeks,
burn the magic and the thrill.
Locomotives, choo choo trains,
the simplicity of giving,
Mistletoe and drawing names,
and a time to be forgiving.
In the distance, one star shines
to remind us what it means.
Itís the constant of all signs,
and outlives all other scenes.
Itís all wrapped within the sky,
ringing with the silver bells,
itís a presence drawing nigh,
to our hearts, where Christmas dwells.
"When red-haired girls scamper like roses
over the rain-green grass,
and the sun drips honey.""
[This message has been edited by Irish Rose (edited 11-13-2000).]