The scene: a small town; Anywhere, U.S.A. in a cottage small and neat
She sits rocking and sewing, a kitten curled up at her feet.
The warm glow of the open fireplace sends shadows dancing 'cross the walls
Reflecting like rainbows out of space from her Christmas tree's colored balls.
Tinsel adds its sparkling magic, to the multi-colored sight
Shimmering as if alive, in the stillness of the night.
The crackling of the burning fire is the only sound she hears
Save for the ticking mantle clock, that has marked the time for years.
She stops her rocking, lets her needle come to rest, and glances at the scene
For though it's Christmas Eve and she's alone, she feels content; All is serene.
She gazes at the tree once more; at the misshaped star atop it and feels a teardrop start
Recalling how a young, blonde moppet had carved it with a loving heart.
How two little hands had whittled, rubbed and scraped so it would be:
A Christmas present to "His Mom," to place high upon her tree.
She remembers too the years before when she was younger, nothing wanting to be had
Until the grim reality of war lay claim upon "Her Man": "His Dad."
It was nearly Christmas Day, soon Christmas Eve would pass: be gone,
Her son, thousands of miles away, and she sits waiting by the phone.
How proud he looked that long day since, when he told of his enlistment
And said, "She was not to worry, they were to act in peace assistance."
Oh how she wished his Dad were there, to give her strength and see