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Poetry by Lynda Razafin
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CHRISTMAS DAY
(c) Lynda Razafin 2011 When I was a little girl
I celebrated Christmas Day
at my grandmother's house.
The real, live Christmas tree
was decorated with
flourescent lights
of all brilliant colors.
My family never forgot me;
I always received a little toy,
being the youngest girl
in my family's household.
When I grew up
we again had a party;
this time it was
in my uncle's home.
My gorgeous aunt,
whom we all looked upon
in silent admiration,
was the party's hostess.
The ambiance was peaceful;
we were quiet, not rowdy,
all the way to the end
of Christmas Day.
Some who were there
were new to our family;
many of us would take turns
telling of our experiences
in different languages.
My uncle later passed away
and was buried in Madagascar
according to local custom.
My mom also passed away,
but remains buried
in her beloved Paris.
Here in New York City,
where I now live,
I have Christmas parties
year after year,
but I no longer see nearly
as many family members.
I have a dream that one day,
by God's grace, we shall all meet
under the Tree of Life --
far more beautiful than any tree
that seasonally graces
Rockefeller Center.
All the faithful of my family
will be there
with so much to share
that will be better than all
the wrapped gifts that
we have ever exchanged.
And we shall not have to wait
year to year to meet;
from Sabbath to Sabbath
shall the Lord gather us together
-- not just for a time that is now
but a mere lifetime,
but throughout all eternity!
C'est la vie!
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Unknown Author
- - - - - -WHOEVER MAKES A GARDEN (Author unknown) Whoever makes a garden has never worked alone. The rain has always found it; the sun has always known. The wind has blown across it and helped to scatter seeds. Whoever makes a garden has all the help he needs. Whoever makes a garden should surely not complain to someone like the sunshine, and someone like the rain; And someone like the breezes to aid him in his toil, and someone like the Father who gave the garden soil. Whoever makes a garden should thank so many friends: The glory of the morning, the dew when daylight ends; The rain and wind and sunshine and dew and fertile sod; for he who makes a garden works hand-in-hand with God! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . |
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