by Gideon Burton
Arrayed in papered glory round the tree
And spilling well across the living room,
The presents promise no small share of glee
For children, banishing all pouty gloom.
And yet, I would forego it all, the craze
Of shopping, wrapping, yuletide in a box,
Because, I fear, it has become a haze,
A hindrance keeping us with ribboned locks
From knowing little Jesus meek and mild,
From holding Christ the Savior in our hearts.
The children seek not Bethlehem to find
But batteries to make their Go Kart start.
Already we are distanced from that place;
No need to cloud the radiance of His face.
Photo: flickr - Striking Photography by Bo Insogna