Each year brings us a new Christmas.
Why waste it chasing your déjà vu Christmas?
Thanksgiving is over, now it's off to the store.
Lights up, carols on, cash out: cue Christmas.
Eleven-year-old Mary in the nativity play, a swaddled hobby horse head stood in for Jesus...
I think that was the year I began to rue Christmas.
The Winter Solstice is a day for remembering our dead.
Some people have called this day the Blue Christmas.
Pages fly off the calendar faster each year.
January sped into June. So flew Christmas.
You used to feel the magic of it all. When playing dolls
Among tinsel on Christmas tree boughs, you knew Christmas.
Shopping done, cookies baked, decor up, stockings hung.
All boxes are checked as if you grew Christmas.
If truly free, would it be parties, family, gifts?
With no obligations, what would you choose to do Christmas?
I send my regrets with a card—and my tears—
To say I won't be with you Christmas.
Full stockings lit only by holiday lights,
Might we not name this dark rainbow hue "Christmas?"
This year my gift to you, wrapped up with a bow:
Permission for you to just make it through Christmas.
Sheltered from the snow in a quiet old church,
You light a candle, hum a hymn, pray at a pew. Christmas.
All's quiet—peace on Earth—alone on the mountain.
The snow is streaks of gold and blue. This is too Christmas.
Joy to the world—whatever that means to each
Human heart—is what I wish you, Christmas.