The
Christmas
Thing
by Jane
Merchant
My
grandmother
sat
On Christmas
morning
Mending
overalls.
A tall tree
glittered,
A hen was
roasting,
And the room
was merry
With dolls
and balls,
So why was
she mending
Overalls?
The air is
magic
On Christmas
morning
And it isn't
a time
For doing
chores.
We had given
her
A brooch
that
glittered
After
anxious
searchings
Of ten cent
stores
So why was
she working
At everyday
chores?
I didn't
know then
But I
learned much
later
That
Christmas
magic
Goes through
and through
The fabric
of living
Love,
threading
her needle,
Made mending
The
Christmas-thing
to do. |