Lest he miss other children, lo!
His angel is his playfellow.
A riotous angel two years old,
With wings of rose and curls of gold.
There on the nursery floor together
They play when it is rainy weather,
Building brick castles with much pain,
Only to knock them down again.
The Children of War are like little flowers trampled,
Young and innocent, fragile and helpless,
Surrounded by violence and rampant destruction-
Their faces are filled with doubts and fear.
The Children of War, so precious and dear,
Stripped of their childhood years, their youth stolen away
Are little Saints for human failing through no fault of their own.
The Children of War, their lives lost and scarred,
Christmas is really
for the children.
Especially for children
who like animals, stables,
stars and babies wrapped
in swaddling clothes.
Then there are wise men,
kings in fine robes,
humble shepherds and a
hint of rich perfume.
Women of courage, women of strength ,
Women of faith and devotion.
Mothers of children with spirits so strong
Who may have unbridled imaginations. REFRAIN: They are women, women of courage
They are Christians, towers of strength.
They are women who put Jesus first in life
Show’ ring His love on all those they greet. Women with losses, women who love,
Whose strength and whose courage comes from above,
Whether they're mothers; or loving Aunties,
It's plain to see Jesus’ love shines through them. REFRAIN: They are women, women of courage
January brings the snow,
makes our feet and fingers glow.
February brings the rain,
Thaws the frozen lake again.
March brings breezes loud and shrill,
stirs the dancing daffodil.
April brings the primrose sweet,
A child is a magical thing.
It breathes air, eats food, and drinks water.
It smiles and knows what it is to be happy.
It cries and knows what it is to be sad.
It enjoys seeing and touching new things,
listening to music, dancing, and exploring,
and asking lots of questions.
It’s very curious about the world,
and about what’s right and wrong.
It also loves being touched, and held,
The books say that with the years, there comes knowledge,
somehow I know now less than when I was a child.
I only know that the stars didn’t shine anymore the way they used to.
I know there isn’t only the good, the bad, and the ugly but the in-between.
Mother's there, her eyes are bright,
Papa's beaming by her side,
And in her arms, a bright delight
Baby brother, little bro.
A picture hanging on the wall
Band-Aids plastered after a fall,
Mother's there to cure it all,
And baby brother, little bro
Into the woods I strolled one day, with my twin sister,
For if I had left her behind, I'd surely have missed her.
We were looking for wild strawberries, but we got lost,
Under the warm sun shining, as breezes blew very soft.
We wandered for a while, then we sat to rest by a lake,
And after eating strawberries, we saw a talking snake.
He had seen us walking, and he took us partway home,
Then a pink bunny guided us, so we didn't roam alone.
high on a hilltop
stands the castle of the wind
in fuchsia rose mists
with a broad moat surrounding
child's fairy tale land
palace of bright stars
when the crescent moon's shining