Note to My Readers: from mid-June to mid-August (6/18 - 8/20), I will be taking a summer break from posting new articles for my Thursday and Friday slots. This will only affect my Thursday series on the global growth of Christianity, and my Friday series, the "Theological Bestiary" of birds, both of which will resume in late August. During the summer, I'll be dusting off some of my best essays from the first few years of this blog (a decade ago), as well as my verse play "Thus Ends the World," and re-posting them in the Thursday and Friday slots. All other weekdays will continue to feature new material throughout the summer.

Wednesday, January 06, 2016

Christmas Poems for My Kids: Poem #3

Every year at Christmas, I write poems for each one of my kids, reflecting back on the year they've had and celebrating who they are right now. It's sort of a literary snapshot that we can look back on to remember this season in their lives, a picture that will record for us many of the things that photographs can't. As they grow older, I hope that these poems will take on special significance for each of the kids, but for now, they're still just strings of words that Dad jumbles together and makes them listen to on Christmas morning--which means that at this point in their lives, they don't really care if I post them for public consumption. So, as my Wednesday "poesy post," I'm offering up these poems. You can find the first poem here and the second here; below is the third one.

Christmas Poem 2015 

Our daughter is a paradox
Of cuteness and a firm resolve:
The beauty of a cherub face,
A will that’s in no measure small.


You learned to walk early this year
And never wanted hands to help;
You fell in love with books, and so
You tried to read them all yourself.


It took poor Dad most of the year
To make you willing to consent
To snuggling still upon his lap
And rocking, more or less content.


Amid the furor and the war
Of brothers’ rough, unholy fights,
You pour maternal love upon
The dolls and toys you hold so tight.


Beyond these charms, though, it is clear
That you are growing up with boys:
First animal sound—a T-Rex roar,
And smashing things with Hulk-hand toys.


You speak so well for not-quite-two
That people often are amazed;
You make us laugh at your sweet mix
Of stubbornness and pleasant grace.


We love how you devour books,
Including mine, though you can’t read;
But sometimes that devouring
Has been too literal for me.


So now I read you gnawed-up books,
With several covers half-consumed;
You don’t seem to mind it, though,
As long as reading can resume.


Though firm and stubborn you can be,
You’ve a cheery disposition:
You wake up sweetly from your naps
And greet with jubilation.


We love you, sweetheart, and we will
Continue loving you always,
For all your beauties, all your quirks,
In every one of all your days. 

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