Tag: days to christmas 2025

From “If We Were Decorations” in Lights from December: A Collection of Christmas Poems by Arlene Johnson Jens:

If we were decorations,
we would ornament your tree.
If we were bows and ribbons,
we’d wrap your presents prettily.

If we were wreaths of holly,
we’d enhance your welcome door;
If we were glowing candles,
we’d warm your hearth as not before.

If we were Christmas goodies,
we’d grace your Yule snacks;
If we were Christmas elfins,
we’d spy on secrets through the cracks.

But we are only greeters
of a Merry Christmas, we’re not coy.
May the Miracle of Bethlehem
bring you peace and joy.

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Ho! Ho! Ho!

As is our custom, we’ve once again gathered together all the photos from this year’s “Days to Christmas” series in this single post, to create one extended eye-popping explosion of light and color.

Click the links above each gallery if you would like to see the original posts and the poems I selected to go with them. 

Thanks for taking a look … and: 

Merry Christmas!!!!!!

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Ten Days to Christmas: It’s Glitter Time!

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Nine Days to Christmas: Peace (at the Bookshop)

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Eight Days to Christmas: Silver and Gold

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Seven Days to Christmas: Red and Green

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Six Days to Christmas: Santas, Gnomes, and Nutcrackers

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Five Days to Christmas: Angel Dreams

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Four Days to Christmas: Winter Solstice (Return of the Light)

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Three Days to Christmas: Brightful Baubles and Tiny Trinquettes

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Two Days to Christmas: Blessings from the Birds and the Beasts

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One Day to Christmas: Happy Christmas Eve!

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From “Stocking Song on Christmas Eve” by Mary Mapes Dodge in Christmas Bells are Ringing: A Treasury of Christmas Poetry, selected by Sara and John E. Brewton:

Welcome, Christmas! heel and toe,
Here we wait thee in a row.
Come, good Santa Claus, we beg, —
Fill us tightly, foot and leg.

Fill us quickly ere you go, —
Fill us till we overflow.
That’s the way! and leave us more
Heaped in piles upon the floor.

Little feet that ran all day
Twitch in dreams of merry play;
Little feet that jumped at will
Lie all pink, and warm, and still.

See us, how we lightly swing;
Hear us, how we try to sing.
Welcome, Christmas! heel and toe,
Come and fill us ere you go.

Here we hang till some one nimbly
Jumps with treasure down the chimney.
Bless us! how he’ll tickle us!
Funny old St. Nicholas!

From “Christmas Stocking” by Eleanor Farjeon in Jingle Bells: Poems for Christmas, chosen by Gaby Morgan:

What will go into the Christmas Stocking
While the clock on the mantelpiece goes
tick-tocking?

An orange, a penny,
Some sweets, not too many,
A trumpet, a dolly,
A sprig of red holly,
A book and a top
And a grocery shop,
Some beads in a box,
An ass and an ox
And a lamb, plain and good,
All whittled in wood,
A white sugar dove,
A handful of love,
Another of fun,
And it’s very near done —
A big silver star
On top — there you are!

Come morning you’ll wake to the clock’s
tick-tocking,
And that’s what you’ll find in the Christmas
Stocking.

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From “The Christmas Fox” in The Christmas Fox and Other Winter Poems by John Bush:

O Father Christmas! You don’t look the same
As the jolly, round fellow who goes by that name.
Where’s your white beard? Your face is so sly.
There’s a point to your ears and a glint in your eye.

And what of your sack? A turkey’s no toy!
Hardly the gift for a girl or a boy.
No black boots. No snowy locks.
You’re not Father Christmas,
You’re O’ Farley the Fox!

But O’ Farley just smiles as on through the snow
He toils and trudges, ever so slow.
His sack bows his back and the strain has him hobbling,
But he smiles for he knows just who’ll do the gobbling.

From “Our Joyful Feast” by George Wither in Treasury of Christmas Ideas, and a Selection of Favorite Stories, Poems, and Carols, published by Meredith Press:

So, now is come our joyful feast,
Let every man be jolly:
Each room with ivy leaves is drest,
And every post with holly.
Though some churls at our mirth repine,
Round your foreheads garlands twine;
Drown sorrow in a cup of wine,
And let us all be merry.

Now all our neighbour’s chimnies smoke,
And Christmas logs are burning;
Their ovens they with baked meats choke,
And all their spits are turning.
Without the door let sorrow lie;
And if for cold it hap to die,
Well bury’t in a Christmas pie,
And evermore be merry.

Now every lad is wondrous trim,
And no man minds his labour;
Our lasses have provided them
A bag-pipe and a tabor;
Young men and maids, and girls and boys,
Give life to one another’s joys;
And you anon shall by their noise
Perceive that they are merry.

Rank misers now do sparing shun;
Their hall of music soundeth;
And dogs thence with whole shoulders run,
So all things there aboundeth.
The country folks themselves advance
For crowdy-mutton’s come out of France;
And Jack shall pipe, and Jill shall dance,
And all the town be merry.…

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