Oh, how they come back to me
Each treasured childhood Christmas memory
Of Mother baking on an old wood stove
Seasoning every delicious dish with love
Day after day our Mother would toil
Using our own lard and not some cooking oil
She cooked so many delicious things
For her family but fit for kings
Me and Daddy with ax in his hand
Would go cut our own tree and then build the stand
It would sit beside the fireplace, a beautiful sight
Mother and my sisters would decorate it just right
On Christmas Eve night we would each place a box
With our name written on them we didn't hang socks
So Santa would know just where to leave what
Even though there were eleven kids he never forgot
Mother taught us the meaning of the real Christmas story
Of how our Saviour was born and all of His glory
Born in a barn and in a manger He lay
The hope of the world was born on that day
Each year at this time my mind wanders back then
And I let myself relive cherished memories again
Of Mother and Daddy and their hearts filled with love
When I think off Christmas and Jesus that's what I think of
Thanks for traveling with me down memory lane again.
©Jack Young
December 10, 2002
Used With Permission
All Rights Reserved By Author
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