We sit around the Christmas tree
Aunts and uncles, you and me.
The children rip the wrapping paper
Fire burns upon the taper.
Twinkling lights embrace the limbs
Ornaments dangle from the rims.
Stockings empty, treats galore
Litter piles upon the floor.
Adults sit and sip their wine
As the kids grow up in time.
Lights are dimmed and wrapping dulled
Due to children growing old.
If only we’d go back with age
To a time where none of us were sage.
And have a Merry Christmas true
Where we all are children too.