Back, far back in the snows of time, in a northern place and a northern clime,
The north lights glitter across the sky...Hush, the tomten hides close by!
In the kitchen of the old farmstead, the Mother is baking her Christmas bread
And sings for the children a little tune, of the fox and the geese and the cold full moon.
Across the sea, tis a long, hard tale, and the ship is slashed by the sleet and hail,
And fears are hidden and prayers are said, with a brave brave smile amid the dread,
But a new life waits on the golden side, So the ship makes port on the New York tide.
And the life that's new is a life that's hard, but the years pass by, with a house and yard;
The children grow and the children play, And they sleep sweet sleep at the close of day,
And the song of the Homeland is forgot--tis only a tale, and the bread is bought.
In a southern land by a gentle sea, near the mountain side, by a green green tree,
In a sunny kitchen, a south wind blows, a long long way from the land of snows;
A little one waits to taste the spoon, and mother is humming a recent tune;
And she feels in her heart as she kneads her bread, as her grandmothers felt in the cold farmstead;
>From mothers to daughters across deep years, past wide waters, laughter and tears,
Across sea and continent, felt but unsaid, as a mother is baking her Christmas bread."
by Suzanne Frantz
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
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