The old worn box, well-loved and sealed up tight, sitting in the hall, We bring it out this time of year, obeying Christmas call. We pull out tissue-wrapped surprises, pieces loved and old, Each faded ornament we touch, a story to unfold. The memory hangs on the tree, right beside the colored light, A golden angel, chipped and worn, shining through the night. It's not the glitter or the gloss, or the newness that we see, It's all the faces of the past, smiling down at me. There's one we made in kindergarten, blue and slightly cracked, And one that marks the year we moved, never going back. We hang the glass reindeer from Grandpa, the snowman from Grandma's hands, Every hook a history lesson, shared across the lands. The soft pine scent is filling up the corners of the room, We take the ribbon, wrap the hook, dispelling winter gloom. Each branch is carefully chosen now, a place for every friend, A ritual of love and light, that we hope will never end. The children who hung these trinkets then, are grown up now and tall, But for an hour, by the glow, time doesn't move at all. The simple act of hanging glass, the greatest gift we find, Is leaving all the busy world, and leaving time behind. The memory hangs on the tree, right beside the colored light, A golden angel, chipped and worn, shining through the night. It's not the glitter or the gloss, or the newness that we see, It's all the faces of the past, smiling down at me. The house is quiet, the lights are dimmed, the tree stands proud and grand... Holding every cherished year, held within its hand. The tinsel catches the fireplace light, just a gentle, silver trace, Every scratch and fading color holds the memory of a place. The star on top still shines so true, watching over all we keep, The memories we hung tonight, tucked away while we sleep. The memory hangs on the tree... shining bright for us to see... Merry Christmas, sweet and true to all of you.
