When child’s eyes, grow so sharp,
the day turns into night,
to reveal a new found fear,
of a blinding light,
lo’ keep the faith, to hold the joy,
a smile speaks some truth,
for a man; is still a boy,
acting as life’s sleuth,
let Bethlehem write the cards,
filled with every wish,
both hearty; and the clichés,
served upon the dish,
tables make their silent groan,
and wallets are made hollow,
every single toast, a moan,
a day that’s hard to swallow,
not to say some gratitude,
remains to be around,
for love that is rightly shown,
reverberates a sound,
that travels from the heart,
and orbits ‘round the world,
thus, a gift’s; to be a part,
a safety lock, so furled,
25th of the 12th, can be
a green and red monster,
as the noise and greed alike,
pays the high street mobster,
lo’ with the sense, that is inside,
such coin is second best,
for; warmth that makes the season,
is to be a guest.