It isn’t even daylight, the old wood stove is hot

We won’t be serving breakfast, but there’s coffee in the pot

Chickens are a boiling, for dumplings later on.

Granny’s rolling pie crust, on this cold winter dawn.

Turnips are a-simmering in a big pot with their greens

A hunk of ham for flavor.

The scent of yeast dough fills the kitchen

When I turn the dough to bread.

It’s Christmas and the family is waiting to be fed.

The tree is decked in paper,

Odd shapes the kids have cut,

The fragile foil star,

Twinkles in the coal-oil light.

We gather round to share the joy.

It’s Christmas once again.

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