Oh, how they come back to me Each treasured childhood Christmas memory Of Mother baking on an old wood stove Seasoning every delicious dish with love Day after day our Mother would toil Using our own lard and not some cooking oil She cooked so many delicious things For her family but fit for kings Me and Daddy with ax in his hand Would go cut our own tree and then build the stand It would sit beside the fireplace, a beautiful sight Mother and my sisters would decorate it just right On Christmas Eve night we would each place a box With our name written on them we didn't hang socks So Santa would know just where to leave what Even though there were eleven kids he never forgot Mother taught us the meaning of the real Christmas story Of how our Saviour was born and all of His glory Born in a barn and in a manger He lay The hope of the world was born on that day Each year at this time my mind wanders back then And I let myself relive cherished memories again Of Mother and Daddy and their hearts filled with love When I think off Christmas and Jesus that's what I think of Thanks for traveling with me down memory lane again. ©Jack Young December 10, 2002 Used With Permission All Rights Reserved By Author Mail



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