In the innocence of my childhood
I believed in Christmas.
Now another year has come and gone,
in the blink of an eye it seems.
Things have changed but things are the same.
In the innocence I believed.
I believed in the senses of Christmas,
in the smell of sugar cookies baking
wafting through the busy kitchen,
in the sound of merry Christmas songs
playing on the radio as we decorate,
in the taste of turkey with all the trimmings,
filling a hunger that’s been building all year,
in the feel of the heat of the Yule log burning
warming our hearts as it crackles,
in the visions of red and green decorations
hanging on a freshly cut scented tree.
I believed in the joy of Christmas,
in the gift of giving and receiving
spreading love and goodwill to all,
in packages wrapped with ribbons and bows
delighting young and old with the surprises they hold,
in the stockings filled and hung from the mantel
brimming with treats and trinkets,
in the cards with warm greetings
reminding us of family and friends we hold dear,
in the wreath upon our front door
welcoming visitors who come to call.
I believed in the magic of Christmas,
in the bright twinkling lights
bringing colour to the darkness,
in the sparkle of the tinsel
glistening amongst the lights and bulbs,
in the snowflakes kissing my face
swirling down from the sky onto my lashes,
in the snow globes with winter wonderlands,
enchanting us as their worlds twirl,
in the legend of jolly old Santa Claus
landing on rooftops with his reindeer and sleigh.
I believed in the promise of Christmas,
in the candles burning gently on the mantle
caressing our home with their soft glow,
in the star shining brightly on top the evergreen
guiding the way towards hope for a better future,
in the church bells ringing loud and clear
offering comfort to lost and lonely souls,
in the carols sung by choirs at the midnight service
lifting our spirits with the glorious refrains,
in the angels appearing in pageants
proclaiming the birth of the saviour.
In the wisdom of my golden years
I questioned Christmas.
Then the memories of Christmases past came flooding through,
and erased the doubts of the present.
Things have changed but things stay the same.
In the golden years I still believe.
Ivanka Fear is a retired teacher and a writer from Ontario, Canada. She holds a B.A. and B.Ed., majoring in English and French literature, from Western University. Her poems and short stories appear in or are forthcoming in Spadina Literary Review, Montreal Writes, Spillwords, Commuterlit, Canadian Stories, Adelaide Literary, October Hill, Scarlet Leaf Review, Polar Borealis, Lighten Up, Bewildering Stories, The Sirens Call, Utopia Science Fiction, The Literary Hatchet, Wellington Street Review, Aphelion, Sad Girl Review, and Tales From the Moonlit Path. She has recently completed her first novel.