Beneath the Boughs

Beneath the boughs of Christmas passing,
Little feet stumble with tiny hands clasping.
Eyes full wide with colors that bright sprinkle,
Ears dampened from loud toot, chime and jingle.
Among boxes, wrappings, and much gifting,
Marches the new life in a first Christmas lifting.
Wanderings below shelf, door and table,
Explore fresh surface with heights unable.
In clothes not worn but frilly and right,
Hands and face kept cleaned for others’ delight.
Over large slippers both old and humble,
Around big hands that out stretch to stop tumble.
Sips of new drink with bites of sweet crumble,
Flow down from above mixed full with wild mumble.
The new smell of cologne, cream and glass jar,
Hold off old fragrances not found from afar.
In light and darkness long sleep be dismiss,
But naps filled with sugarplums each end in a kiss.
Under boughs of every holiday tree
To each little one, A Merry Christmas be!

jpr" alas the brandy be of fault.