My Christmases when I was young,
Were white with snow and garlands hung,
Round open fires of burning coals,
Warming hearts and warming souls
The crimson Robin at the pane,
The evergreen hedges down the lane,
And all along the icy streets,
Folk slipped and stumbled through the sleet
To sing their Carols by the gates,
Of houses roofed with thatch and slate,
And we with presents on our beds,
From room to room excited sped,
And everyone was filled with joy,
And I was a very happy boy.


As now I sit and dream and smile,
For Christmas comes in a little while,
I see the stark brown grass so dead,
The narrow flanks of cows ill fed,
And sweat in heat that burns the skin,
The creek too dry for bathing in.
And round the sandstone cliffs the fires,
Make black the landscape one admires,
In times when rain doth green its face,
And turn it into a happy place.
Yet we are grateful to the Lord,
That we have a home we can afford,
And we'll give our thanks this Christmas day,
That a babe was born among the hay.

©Copyright December 14, 2002 by Colin F. Jones

Page Updated: Tuesday March 6, 2012
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