I saw this poem/commentary a few years back, and I think it is worth re-posting here:


I awake on Christmas morning, warm and comfortable on the sofa.

I couldn't wait for the morning to come, so I snuck down and slept with the tree and the presents, full of excitement and anticipation for the day to come.

All the lights are dark except for the tree, and the colors are reflecting off the walls and the floor in all shades of the rainbow.

The ornaments twinkle with reflected light and reflections of the gifts wrapped in bright colors.

This is the greatest morning of my year...


Then I awake and realize it was a dream.

It was a dream of my childhood, when I was safe and warm in my parent's home.


I am cold and wet. The snow has drifted around me, and it is very cold.

I tried to burrow into some papers and boxes in the shelter of a doorway, but the wind still finds me.

The only light is a streetlamp, glowing the same yellow hue that it does every night out in the street.

There are no decorations now. There are no presents for me now.

It is Christmas morning, and children are awaking to find presents and toys that will light up their days and make special memories. Memories like the ones I had so long ago.

But for me this is just another day.




 At this time of year, we should all remember those less fortunate than ourselves and take time to help them where and when we can...