Our Christmas Lights

Oh the wonder of the old glassed in Christmas tree lights. They'd boil as the lights heated them and bubble for hours of pleasure. The colored lights dispersed and distracted by the tiny bubbles transcending the tube and would catch my eye and fascination

My mother grew up in days

when lights upon the tree

were made of candles held aloft

in boughs on papers free.

 

As I grew up I saw great

and wondrous lights to see.

The glassed-in candles made with oil,

it'd boil as in the sea.

 

I'd watch the lights for hours.

Their tiny bubbles seethe.

I'd connected with the action

of lights played out for me.

 

Now I've raised brood of children.

Of daughters; one, two, three.

I watch them gaze in wonder

seeing lights upon my tree.

 

Reviews

[Hannah Estar]

This is a wonderful poem. It illustrates a transition between the generations amazingly well. I am inspired. Good job on the contest. =D A truly, beautiful piece, a masterpiece of memories and wisdom.

~Hannah Estar

[Seriana]

This is most soothing, and a wonderous way to remember such a special childhood time. Thanks for entering the contest! Good luck. :)

[Nancy Lee Shrader]

Beautiful Poem.

Author: Nancy Lee Shrader