A Christmas card brings joy, but oh,
My fingers move across the cards so slow.
The pen I use is different now, so thick,
Just to keep it falling from my grip.
When I was young I wrote with ease
And added loving messages to please.
Each line flowed perfect on the paper,
Vibrant, happy, like its maker.
But now the cards I write take time,
Ink blots and tears on every line.
And late into the weary hours of the night,
I hold my pen and write…and write.
©2004 Liz Kollar