On the old piano keys
Jingle Bells is played again
and Jack Frost paints the window pane
with pictures from the fairy glen.
Children rush to look and see
the gifts in piles beneath the tree
wrapped in red and gold and green,
they sparkle in the magic light.
Merry, constant and unseen,
sweeping through the starlit night,
Santa flies above the towns.
The cake and drink we left is gone.
This childhood magic’s over now
but still I sing the Christmas songs.
when a person has a birthday
how ever old they are
you think about a child
and all the gifts they crave
with all the world spread out ahead
wishing on a star
but later on in life,
you start to realise
it’s not about the birthday gifts
you only wish for greetings
from loved ones flung afar
all the distant family
and all the friends you made
just to see them smile again
though they are in the grave
it’s hard to have a party
when the guests are gone away
and you are the last of them
to linger here and stay
you watch the children gather
you offer them some cake
you smile and laugh and bless them
and linger for their sake
The Dreaming Path 