Why do we keep coming here?
Year after year.
It's kind of crazy--really.
Staggering down the steps with the heavy boxes.
Dragging out the old tattered Christmas tree.
Wondering if lights work
and where are those special ornaments
we seem to have lost.
Standing on ladders, reaching high
to hang the green-colored wreaths.
Sending cards--with stamps as high as they are.
Thinking of menus
and table settings
and who will be here.
Moving all the stuff off the mantle--
to stretch lights, of all things
and garland
and greenery.
Why do we keep coming here?
Thinking again of mangers
and stars
and shepherds
and over-filled rooms.
We've been here so often
we know it all by heart.
We move past bills
and TV terrors
and political disappointments
and sad obituary notices
and aching backs
To see what folk have always seen--
Not much, really.
Just hay
and starlight
and common names
like Mary and Joseph
and of all things
a baby.
Just a baby.
--Roger Lovette
--Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com
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