The Littlest Star

The littlest star on my Christmas tree
is one that shines so bright for me.
It was placed there by a little boy
who has brought his dad and me much joy.
He cut the star from felt so white–
it even shines in the darkest night.
Now, our son has matured and grown.
He’s now a man with a home of his own.
He trims a different Christmas treeOLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA
in another state so far from me.
As I remember his childhood days
and think of all the many ways
he brought us joy and happiness,
I know how truly we are blessed,
and in the light of that little star
our wishes go so very far
to kiss a little boy on the head
in another state in a little bed.
And I speak to that Star of Bethlehem,
shine Thy light so brightly on him
so that Thy Truth he will grow to see
the Special Light of my Christmas tree!

© Freeda Baker Nichols

Christmas tree

 

 

 

 

 

 

NaBloPoMo#16 SPARKS OF STARS

NaBloPoMo_November_small

Sparks of Stars

As I
gaze at the stars
that shape the Milky Way
I wonder if any children
watch, too.

The stars
were bright when I
was young.  They shone like sparks
of fire against a velveteen
black sky.

I wish
little children
could view the great display
along the Milky Way tonight.
It’s cool!

© 2013 Freeda Baker Nichols

English: Pleiades Star Cluster

Christmas Hope

I cut the tree and pulled it up the path
where boots had left imprints in drifts of snow.Footprints in snow 009 

A song of love inside my heart released
old memories that stirred my soul to move
like dancing stars around a velvet vest.
So long ago I walked this way with him
and wore a gown of red with velvet vest
to find a tree just right for only two.
We cut it down with sharpened axe of steel
and laughingly foot-raced each other home.
He took the star I made of wrinkled foil
and placed it high upon the cedar limb.
We had no gifts beneath the tree that year;
without a job we barely had our food–
and so we knelt and turned our hearts to God.
Today, I took my handkerchief and wiped
small flecks of snow away from blurry lens,
adjusted frames of gold behind my ears,
as silently the falling flakes of snow
soon hushed the sound of tears inside of me.
At home, I put the dull and jagged axe
away to use another Christmas time.
The faded star of wrinkled foil still glows
above my tree where hope is shaped like bells
I cut from crumpled velvet vest of red.

c Copyright, 2012, Freeda Baker Nichols