Six stockings were hung with such great care
A large family, it appeared, would celebrate here
A husband and wife share a loving embrace
While the children rip paper, at a break-neck pace
In the fireplace, crackling, and a warm red glow
Outside, with a vengeance, cold winds did blow
In the corner, a tree, with lights abound
Filling the room, familiar choruses and holiday sounds

The windows, all covered, with an icy frost
Inside, the significance of the day wasn't lost
The father did spin an intriguing yarn
About a baby, named Jesus, being born in a barn
The children listened as he spoke of a star
That called folks to visit from near and far
It was no ordinary baby that was born on this day
It was the son of God, he went on to say

An old man sitting in a rocking chair
No one around, not a soul to care
He stares across the room at a plastic tree
Wishing again for his mind to run free
He knew not from where these strange thoughts came
He knew only that a disease, called Alzheimer's, was to blame
This wonderful memory, he knew wouldn't last
A memory, he assumed, of a Christmas past

Donald J. Donofrio III
copyright 1997