My Greatest Joys
They try to ruin Christmas,
Those who wring their profits from it,
By bombarding us for weeks with things to buy.
And only folks who live in caves
On high and far-off summits
Are immune to all the pressure they apply.
The rest of us can only hope
To keep it at a distance,
To protect our Christmas Spirit from decay,
And when my shields grow weak
And there’s a drain on my resistance
I seek comfort in the old familiar ways.
I immerse myself in old songs,
Watch the classics on TV,
Read the books that filled my childhood with delight,
Gather loved ones all around me
Hang old memories on the tree;
Find the one who centers me and hold her tight.
And there upon the sofa
In the warm light of our tree,
With my children’s artwork hanging all around,
I am once again reminded
Of what Christmas means to me,
And of where my greatest joys can all be found.
Bob LazzarAtwood's Other Poems
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(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
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