God's Christmas

A reminiscent village ‘neath the towering forest pines,
sleeps softly in the flakes of heavenly sky.
They, gliding in their grace, simplistic beauty do define,
the wonder in a simple awestruck sigh

Within the central square, on benches ‘neath the barren boughs,
aged faces turn to catch the falling gems.
Remembrances are passed in simple prose twixt wrinkled mouths,
bright-eyed these ancient angels pray to Him.

Their thankful praises rise above trees, a reverent cloud,
for all the blessings-past and blessings-come.
Clasped hands are raised in silent song, as white-haired heads are bowed,
the whispered prayers take up a sacred hum.

Then one by one they, silent fall. A subtle hush of peace,
drifts down the tree-lined mountains to the square.
Among these elderly, and frail it grants a sweet release,
a quiet sense of Godliness is there.

Among the rampant bustlings of a country gone awry,
let us give pause, and find the deep repose,
which in the penitent and pure of heart do often lie.
The love received from him who truly knows.