by Geraldine Moorkens Byrne

Created on: September 23, 2009

Slight rustle of paper,

light, barely broken in the east;

feet bare - on carpet, soft

hushed giggles, muffled

down the stairs, breath held

Did he come? stockings full.

Under ancient crib, grandmother's own

Shepherds smile, angels hover

over a pile, a treasure trove,

gilt and colour, ribbon wrapped.

Smells - food, perfume, tree-

Cold creeping, shiver, laugh

cannot wake our sibling - sour.

Just us two, holding hands

looking at the baby king

newly placed and newly come

No one else will wake

it takes a childish heart

to be the first, to vigil make

to see in Christmas Morn.

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