Children of Christmas
by Michelle Gardner
Looking through the window
I see the snow upon the ground;
And all the children playing,
As Christmas swims the town.
Quietly I watch them,
And wonder if they know
The story of that day gone by,
Before the Christmas snow.
I see the lowly mother,
Ill and heavy with child;
And watch as poor old Joseph
Cares for the mother so mild.
I see the innkeepers turn them away,
And wonder if they'd known,
Just what they could have done that day,
And what they might have shown.
When the star appeared above them,
Did they somehow wonder then
If there was more they could have done,
Or more they might have been?
Did the shepherds ever question
As they followed that bright light?
If the angels hadn't come,
Would they have traveled still that night?
The questions fill my mind
As I replay that Christmas night;
And see within myself
A piece of that holy light.
I picture the babe in the manger,
Wrapped in swaddling clothes;
And think of His life before Him,
And the example He still shows.
My eyes travel back to the children,
So pure and innocent,
Singing songs of Christmas,
With faces of content.
Somehow, it seemed they knew
The story of that night,
As I watched them hug each other,
Wrapped in Christmas light.
by Michelle Gardner
Looking through the window
I see the snow upon the ground;
And all the children playing,
As Christmas swims the town.
Quietly I watch them,
And wonder if they know
The story of that day gone by,
Before the Christmas snow.
I see the lowly mother,
Ill and heavy with child;
And watch as poor old Joseph
Cares for the mother so mild.
I see the innkeepers turn them away,
And wonder if they'd known,
Just what they could have done that day,
And what they might have shown.
When the star appeared above them,
Did they somehow wonder then
If there was more they could have done,
Or more they might have been?
Did the shepherds ever question
As they followed that bright light?
If the angels hadn't come,
Would they have traveled still that night?
The questions fill my mind
As I replay that Christmas night;
And see within myself
A piece of that holy light.
I picture the babe in the manger,
Wrapped in swaddling clothes;
And think of His life before Him,
And the example He still shows.
My eyes travel back to the children,
So pure and innocent,
Singing songs of Christmas,
With faces of content.
Somehow, it seemed they knew
The story of that night,
As I watched them hug each other,
Wrapped in Christmas light.
