I recall a Christmas Carol service, many years ago. A little chapel on a hill, covered deep in snow. Children around a Christmas tree, lit with candle light; Rows of parents, sat on old pine pews, singing, 'Silent night.' Festive holly and paper chains hanging from beams of oak, The mellow glow of oil lamps and kerosene scented smoke. Anxious young eyes count parcels, spread beneath the tree. How many? Are there enough? Is there one for me? Organ gasps the final chord heads are dropped in prayer, Rev Croft gives thanks and reminds us why we're there. Now the presents, John! Mary! Robert! Everyone called by name. I've got a book. And me! And me! Everyone's got the same. A blessed and happy congregation, spill into the acid cold night; Lit with a thousand twinkling stars and one so very bright, Shines on snow capped head-stones streaked with frozen spears. Joyous families homeward bound, has one small boy in tears, The orphanage path he treads alone, beside the frozen brook. Clutching his only Christmas present a heavenly story book. So ponder friends your actions, and to others kindness show. For I still treasure that self-same book, from seventy five years ago. Clive Rees (Monmouth)