Michaela Hart

A year has passed away,
Never to be back.
I hope this little greeting
Suffices as a plaque.

You've passed another summer,
Spring, winter, fall.
You've created memories,
A joy and smile to recall.

You're growing into a sturdy soul.
Your little goofs, smiles,
Your struggles, accomplishments,
And your mischievous wiles.

Your funny personality
Grows along with you.
You're a wonderful little brother,
And, yes, a little goof too.

I know you like to pretend
You're a little brat sometimes
When you come up
And strangle me from behind.

I know you love to shoot
Those Nerf bullets at my back,
But I also know you like to snuggle
When you're done your attack.

I appreciate these little things
That make you who you are.
You keep me on my toes
But you're a wonderful little brother.

So, in the years passed
And years still yet ahead,
I hope you grow strong
While towards manhood you tread.

I can see you shaping
Into a special little guy,
So keep your smile
While these days pass on the sly.

A happy birthday to you,
My special little bro.
In this coming year
I will happily watch you grow.

Silent soft snow descends.
Lights reflect into the night.
The world seems to wait,
Hushed before Christmas's delight.

The days creep gradually shorter.
Children feel the magic grow.
Oh when will Christ's birth come?
"Soon," whispers the silent snow.

Cookies baked, trees trimmed.
The world builds anticipation,
Yet the manger is missing the Christ,
The Source of this festive sensation.

Coloured lights keep vigil.
Garlands and trees emerge.
Cards get mailed to kin.
"Come Christmas," children urge.

Then one night, the 25th,
A bell, a soft bell rang.
Then angels came and proclaimed
Christ is born, they sang!

The people sitting in darkness
Heard the joyful song.
They rang their bells and rejoiced.
Come, let's sing along!

Now, in this Christmas season
May Christ's joy rest every fear,
And may your heart grow younger
In the coming New Year!

Momma's in the kitchen
making muffins for me.
There's eggs, raisins, milk
And white powdery stuff I see.

She says it's flower,
but doesn't look the same.
With all those cups and bowls around,
it looks like a fun game.

Momma says if I help her
there'll be a tasty prize.
She'll stick some batter in the oven,
and I can watch it rise.

I'll watch it slowly grow
from sticky stuff to muffins.
How that happens, I don't know/
It is by magic somethings.

Then a muffin I'll gobble
up into my little tummy.
Those muffins will disappear
like magic, and so yummy.