The holidays are freighted, still <br /> With thoughts of others days, long past; <br /> It is the same, yet, not like last, <br /> Nor any day since he fell ill. <br /> <br /> Something elusive, in vain, restored; <br /> Strange, how one absence, makes the change; <br /> For never can man here, rearrange, <br /> With stranger, at the festal-board; <br /> <br /> Ah, no! We sing the carols, old, <br /> And speak of the Savoir that we love; <br /> Times are unchanged; this we shall prove, <br /> The day is Christmas, and not cold; <br /> <br /> And whispers under smile and jest-- <br /> The times are strange, we are grown wise; <br /> The Child has grown like us in size; <br /> The adult holiday is best.<br /><br />Faery Harper<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-holidays-2/
