Christmas is the paper that wraps up the year;
A present to the future whose identity’s unclear.
Impatient we wait, destination unknown;
We reach for the forbidden apple with no ring tone.
Anticipation fertilizes our hope;
An illicit drug to help us cope.
But the greatest gift is all too clear.
It’s here. It’s now.
It’s enjoying the stop at life’s train station,
And letting the apple ripen, avoiding temptation…
