Poem by Mark F. Stone

For many, the gifts are the be-all and end-all:
the big screen, the tablet, the Barbie and Ken doll.
For me, gifts I get are like ice in the sun.
I cannot recall them. No, not even one.

How did I find a true way to remember
the import of each twenty-fifth of December?
The quest to acquire is an urge one can curb.
The lesson I learned was: make Christmas a verb.

Knock on the door of your neighbors who deal
with aging and loneliness. Bring them a meal.
If you have means and you live in fine fettle,
drop off some greens in that little red kettle.

Visit our vets who are hurt and express
your thanks for their service as they convalesce.
Deliver to others a luminous glow.
The gifts you will cherish are those you bestow.