By DONALD DeMARCO
Christmas is about birth and rebirth. It is about the birth of our Savior and our own rebirth. It is the great antidote to life that is hurtling toward death. Poetry is also about birth and rebirth. In its own humble way, it, too, is an argument against death being the final chapter of our lives.
Virgil, the greatest of the Latin poets, said: “There are tears in things, and all things that are doomed to die touch the heart” (Lachrimae rerum; et mentem mortalia tangunt).
But he did not know about Christmas and how the birth of the Christ Child means the victory of light over darkness, love over hate, and life over death. Christmas brings back to life so many fond memories of friends we have almost forgotten. Mortality continues to elicit tears, but Christmas, that transcends our finitude, is the great harbinger of unfettered joy and lasting life.
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The birth of Christ stirs our memories that may have been
Dormant, like a child’s slumber, for nearly a dozen months,
Occasioning a second birth to a myriad of friends our hearts hold dear,
Evoking pleasant times, bright smiles, warm hugs, and joy-filled conversations.
Our memories, like swaddling clothes, wrap you with our affection as we await,
Like shepherds in the field, the birth of a Sceptered Babe
Who rules without power and loves without restraint:
Our light, our hope, our path to lasting peace.
To all, on this Eve of Christmas,
Our love, our thanks and our sincerest wish
That you remember our gift of friendship
So we can share it for another year.
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