The Annual Christmas Poem

For the past 30 years at Christmas I've sent out greetings via an original poem. I understand it has become quite the tradition to receive the poems, and my list of mailings has gradually increased to well over a hundred families now, but unfortunately, I still miss folks that I should send greetings so, I've included the poem and pictures on this year's blog, just in case you, dear reader, are not on Nancy and my mailing list. (If we did miss you and you'd like to be included in next year's edition drop me a note with your address).

We are off to the back country of Maramures for Christmas. We'll be staying at a bed and breakfast there with about a dozen other volunteers and participating in as much 'culture' as we can including midnight and morning church and carolling - both English and Romanian - around the neighborhood. We are looking forward to it, and hope that you will have as enjoyable a holiday as we expect.

And now, as promised, the 31st annual poem for Christmas...

December, 2006

I wonder if wisdom should be associated with age,
As if accumulating experience makes us sage?
I feel no smarter now, know no more then I knew
Than some thirty years past when first I threw
Word next to word, rhyme beside rhyme,
And Line upon line to mail at Christmas time.

Mellower I am perhaps, but wiser? I think not.
My mind now has gaps, blank spots and slow rot.
Corners of the brain are so cluttered and jumbled
No telling what words my mouth may have mumbled.
Of some things though, I feel fairly assured
Learned either through fair days or trials endured.

Faith I have that on these facts I’m true, that I’m right:
One: somethings are better dark. Two: others bright.
Three: some days need sunshine. Four: others need rain.
Five: crazy thoughts may be brilliant or merely insane.
Six: it’s our spot, our perspective, that colors our view,
Makes us value customs, people, places old, places new.

As our spot changes, our view and perspective adjusts,
So may change also our longings, our loves and our lusts.
Morning Glories prove one man’s weed is another’s flower,
Depends upon which man, depends upon which hour,
A splendid pale blossom or a choking, entangling vine
Depends on one’s viewpoint, and upon the sunshine.

As I age it’s not wisdom I hope for – no sage will I be -
But acceptance is my wish for us all, for you and for me.
I desire that our burrs be softened, hard edges removed,
Our harshness buffered and rough places smoothed,
Be slower to anger, quicker to smile but with less spittle
And that we learn to accept one another a least just a little.

From Cluj-Napoca we wish you the best Christmas
And most hopeful of New Year’s, and may we mellow as we age.

Tim and Nancy