To The Daily Sun,
Hopefully Mr. E. Scott Cracraft and James Veverka might read this poem I wrote some 40 years ago and maybe understand that faith and belief is in the heart, and if one doesn't have it then they don't and that maybe the reason they write what they do.
On the Eve of Christmas
Now, three days past the longest night,
eight reindeer and sleigh take flight;
to spread the tide of Christ's birth and gift,
carry word of His new year, spirits lift.
So silent and swift the passing sleigh: yet,
not one believing in His name would say,
"I fail to see the tiny sleigh and deer,
I really don't believe St. Claus was here."
Down the chimneys of our hearts he goes,
rekindling spirits fire; for he knows
that no gift greater than His divine light,
is seen in our spirit on Christmas night.
Myth born an age and world far away,
spun and imagined 'til this our day--
we would naught believe unless we heard:
the bells, deer, sleigh and His spoken word?
Wouldn't believe in easy joy, special laughter,
can we believe now two thousand years after,
that our God Father in the Heaven above
gave to us His Son so much was His love?
We needn't look to the sky, strain our ear,
as it's from within He comes to us each year.
As we lay gifts under the decorated tree,
on the eve of Christmas, within us He'll be.
- Category: Letters
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