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| Early Christmas |
There are years when Christmas seems to come to me in a rush.
And suddenly, I am shivering with Elizabeth or transfixed with Mary.
Carols start to play and wrapping paper litters the floor.
I didn't plan this, I say shamefaced.
And its cry is incessant until I wrap it in my arms and sing softly.
And some years, Christmas is left on my doorstep.
Neglected, cold, and silent,
a note pinned to it's blanket. I am here. That's all.
No more than a stray and I let it in reluctanly, if at all.
Sometimes it grows on me like a crabby child
whose heart I suddenly understand.
The most beautiful of all because it is unexpected
And it is love.
It comes when it comes. Early, late, on time.
Welcome all the same.
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