Christmas Morn

Early Christmas morning,
Softly down upon our town.
A fresh, new snow was falling,
It made an ermine gown.

And fashioned in the heavens,
In a cloud drift stretching far.
Was the fancy of a Christ child,
That was mirrored by a star.

Down across the horizon,
Where mountains gently hem.
The magic of our little town,
Resembled Bethlehem.

And even though the years have gone,
There seemed a chorus sung.
And in the cold, clear atmosphere,
A spirit sweetly hung.

All wrapped in quiet beauty,
With the wand of winter pressed.
Our little town stood hallowed,
With people richly blessed.


E.P. 1908 - 1989

Almo and Yost in the Upper Raft River Valley