By Josie Whitehead
The Christmas tree is gaily decked
With decorations bright.
The coloured lights are then turned on.
It’s such a lovely sight.
The angel at the top looks down -
He does this year by year.
He gazes out across your room
From his far up lofty sphere.
Christmas cards bedeck the room;
The Christmas crib comes out
But, this home seems so strangely quiet,
With no one else about.
No early morning cries are heard
As children laugh and shout,
And the reason for this silence is:
No children are about.
It’s almost time to go to church:
'A happy Christmas, dear’ –
And you reply: ‘And to you, too,’
But inside it is clear - - -
With family gone you're now alone.
You quietly close your door,
But remember that you’re not alone -
You’re one of many more.
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