Grandmother's Christmas

I can see Grandmother, quietly rocking,
Knitting with needles unerring and quick.
Each of us treasured her warm Christmas stocking
Knitted for wearing, but not for Saint Nick.

Grandmother's faith made our Santa Claus foolish;
She followed shepherds to worship the King.
Songs of White Christmas turned Grandmother mulish;
Angels from heaven taught her what to sing.

Grandma baked bread every Saturday morning --
Down through the years the aroma comes still!
Though she was old, yet a light seemed adorning
Each of her smiles, as dawn gleams on the hill.

Grandmother's bread is not baked any more.
Memories that linger, though, time can't erase.
New joy is hers on a heavenly shore --
Christmas at home where she sees the King's face.