Who does not wish to give the perfect gift <br />to those we love – to whom we have already <br />given the greatest gift we have – our heart? <br />To choose a visible and outward sign <br />of love whose meaning’s inward, spiritual? <br /> <br />But who would dare to challenge innocence <br />and ignorance in their demonic bond, <br />and break the spell of Christmas wish and hope <br />by telling children, that old Santa Claus <br />is but the God who gave their life to them - <br />dressed up in red and white and snowy beard; <br />and who, in needing nothing of himself, <br />would be delighted to receive their thanks <br />and nothing more; and who, we might believe <br />of one who has all gifts in his command, <br />might be obliged by those laws he himself <br />created, out of justice, equity, <br />to give them that which they themselves have made – <br />a life of gratitude for life itself – <br />a life of praise, where all the world is gift <br />beyond all human gifts? <br /> <br />What parents now <br />might give their children gold, myrrh, frankincense <br />with all their love; and teach them by this show <br />why Christmas gifts are godly metaphor? <br /> <br />Of course, no parents would dare break this spell; <br />you’ll laugh at me for this absurdity; <br />yet it might build a clear-eyed, praising race <br />who thought in metaphor; spoke poetry.<br /><br />Michael Shepherd<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/0008-the-gift/
