How swiftly fly the rainbow years,Like splintered shafts of light,As fragile as the gentle ghostsWho whisper in the night.I draw my child into my armsAnd hold this moment fastAgainst the time my face will beHer Ghost-of-Christmas Past.
I saw the Ghost-of-Christmas PastGlide by our lighted tree.Her arms wee filled with dolls and toys,And all were meant for me.I sensed the rustle of her skirts.Her blouse was trimmed with lace,And when she turned to smile at meShe wore my mother's face.
Just as this vision slipped from sightI heard my daughter call.Wild footsteps clattered on the stair;Shrill giggles filled the hall.She burst into the gift- filled roomAnd squealed in glad surpriseAnd all the Christmases-to-comeWere mirrored in her eyes.