Somewhere, buried under tissue, bent beneath the load
Of our hurried, harried giving Christmas lost the road.
Christmas that was sweet and simple, with a song, a star,
Christmas that was hushed and holy seems so very far!
Let us stop and look for Christmas: Maybe, if we tried,
We could find it somewhere under all the gifts we tied.
Christmas waiting, wistful, weary, may be very near —
Christmas lost, a little lonely, wishing to be here.
by: Helen Frazee Bower