12 December 2011
Crisp anticipation, decks the frosty winter's night, Eager breath on window, clouds the flickering reflection of the Christmas candle light, A sentimental father sighs at the sight of growing son, Knowing his father's guiding work is almost, irrevocably done,
He worries over what is left to give, Of how his son will learn to live, And the Christmas music floats, jingling through every room, Poignantly, tenderly, unremembered how the gift came, laced with Herrod's doom,
And as he places presents, under fragrant Yuletide tree, His hidden tears so freely flow, leaking wishes he could better father be, He sees the guiding shining star, in the heavens of the East, And thinks himself among the wise men three, certainly of the three, shining least,
And so to magical morning, house in festive furious uproar, Father stands admiring son, from just beyond the door, But little boy turns and charges, embraces father with abandon swift, And then the old man realizes, where lays in life the special gift,
On Christmas morning, man and son, Entangled up in fun, Push aside fear and sin and other such thing, and think not of Herrod's crime, But celebrate the day with the one you love, and be thankful for the greatest gift... the gift of sharing time...
A Christmas Father • Opuss № I