Christmas Secrets (a poem)

Christmas is a time for
secrets
wrapped up in shiny paper,
tied with gold ribbons.
As children, our eyes grow bright
seeing the colorful
patterns hugging the treasures
snuggled beneath the tree.

We see secret smiles,
secret whispers,
secret looks.
Bags smuggled in from
the car after a shopping
trip.

We try to discover the
secrets,
peek,
prod,
shake,
sniff,
measure;
is it what I asked for?

In teen years,
it doesn’t matter
so much
what’s under the tree.
(Or so we act.)
We don’t believe in Santa,
and Mom and Dad are hard to
buy for.

We go away–for college, for marriage–
and can’t wait to get home.
Who cares about presents?
It’s Mom and Dad, brothers and sisters
who are the gifts.

Now Christmas is coming again.
Many years from childhood
we anticipate the day with the
wonderment,
giddiness,
jubilation,
sleeplessness,
as the children do.

We are now the
secret keepers.
Want to tell . . . want to share our
secret
pleasure in knowing our
secrets
will bring happiness,
will bring delight.

Christmas secrets,
secrets full of joy.