Hidden in the attick
dull and dark,
not round and bright,
are the treasures awaiting
for the christmaslight
Sounds of spring,
and summerbreezes,
autumnleaves
and skies of gold,
dust accumulating on the pieces
warmth giving way for cold.
When the winterclocks are calling,
mist and haze cover the land,
when perhaps the snow is falling,
whitening the dark brown sand,
then the children's feet are sounding
on the stairs and to the box.
A little heart is gravely pounding
when it's grasping for the socks.
"Mommy", he calls loud,
and is displaying
all he's in a corner found,
He feels so so proud,
when he starts playing.
...suddenly startles at a sound...
Little feet made the balls rolling
causing that special christmas sound.
Ornaments in a box calling
so again they will be found.
Mother reaches down
and blows the dust off.
Around flies all the grey and brown.
The little boy, who had to cough
is asking: "MOM, can we take this box now down?
"Hardly can he wait for the evening
when he'll see the tall, huge tree,
that needs a lot of decoration
before it's ready for all to see.
Nearly asleep, he is still dreaming
about the ornaments and light.
"Tomorrow, tomorrow...",
he whispers almost silent
I will see the tree
all full and bright.
