And all through the house, the children are grown, there's not even a mouse.
The stockings are hung by the stairwell with care
With dreams that St. Nicholas will find them hung there.
And so it goes. Christmas eve no longer holds that sweet anticipation and wonder that it once did. Things are much more practical now: have I done enough, acquired the right things to please, will the day go well, will everyone enjoy each other.
The body grows older, the heart - not so much. But while the heart doesn't feel older, it can feel more full - and hope springs eternal that it will always be filled with the absolute essence of the Spirit of Christmas. My wish for us all.
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