Giving Is Joy

Putting on hat. Yanking on boots.
Pulling on gloves. Basket of fruits.

Opening door. Holding on tight.
Wind hits my face. Everything's white..

Weather is bad. Comforts forgo.
Making my way. Footprints in snow.

Taking short steps. Carefully now.
Slipped on some ice. I'm not sure how.

Old narrow road. Old man like me.
Walking along. Something to see.

Tall leafless trees. Stretching above.
Creator's art. Painted with love.

Deep heavy snow. Bushes weighed down.
Bright colored lights. Almost sundown.

Cold seizes breath. Fingers are numb.
Now getting close. Music has come.

Christmas music. Melodies sweet.
Memory's peace. Always complete.

Up a few steps. Knock on the door.
Greeted with smile. Warm wooden floor.

Welcomed inside. Rosy red face.
'O Holy Night'. Snug fireplace.

More Christmas songs. Humble abode.
Gift of fresh fruit. Nothing is owed.

Kindness is sweet. "Thank you's" are said.
Then back at home. Ready for bed.

Said I, a prayer. "Making new friend.
Giving is joy. Pays dividend."

This poem won second place for the December 2016 poetry contest