Poems from the past by Lynne

In sorting through my Christmas basket of letters and photos (sorting and decluttering goes along with age) I found some great letters from my cousin in Canada, and even a few from my mother who died in 2000. Sadly, there were also Christmas letters from "Squeeky" and Nelson (Tom) (obituaries are on the blog). As a bonus,  I found three nice seasonal poems by Lynne. I've been nagging her for years to compile them, but who listens to me?  I really like the New Year poem message--remarkable from one who has faced down cancer three times.
"There is time out there to be lived,
But not one minute must we hoard."

Christmas 1993
Home for Christmas

I'm going home for Christmas
(who says one can't go home again!)
And it always recalls to mind,
The dear folks who will be waiting there
With smiles to sweet and kind.

I am going home for Christmas,
at the thought my heart sings;
I can scarcely wait for that morning
For the joy that it brings.

It's a small house in a village
where smoke curls in the air,
The log fire where the flames leap high,
A cozy, winged-back chair.
Pure contentment, yes it's there.

The shadows of the evening
fall across the snow,
and bathe the earth in pale pink glow,
While winter's sun burns low.

The neighborhood church is beckoning
With iviting candle light, and music,
traditional and old is telling of a reckoning
so long ago foretold.

Home reflects itself within my heart,
I'm at once happy and at peace for he who sees
For I'm going home for Christmas
To all those memories.

Christmas 1995
So, Tested Friendships

Like lighted cnadles set on a window ledge
at night, which throw
A mellow, yellow path of light
Across the Christmas snow. . .

Like dancing hearth flames' warm caress
Reflecting cheer,
Soft'ning kind faces
That we hold dear.

Like holly berries bright;
Like mistltoe, with berries white . . .
Like bright stars upon a clear midnight.

So, tested friendships,
Mellow, cheering, warm and purse;
One of life's cherished gifts,
Through passing years endure.

Christmas 2002
The New Year

The old year was generous in many ways,
In other ways she may have seemed austere.
But I feel no recrimination--only joy,
As I face the New Year without fear.
There is time out there to be lived,
But not one minute must we hoard.
The year is given to us in trust,
Wanton waste we cannot afford.
And the days will grow into weeks,
The tasks and blessings will pile high.
We'll find real joy in living,
As these weeks go swiftly by.
And weeks make up months--just twelve,
How quickly the precious time goes.
Amy time have made us wiser and better.