Christmas Cards Poem by sylvia spencer

Sometimes I wonder why we get so many and some years
I think shall I send any.
Then they start coming through the door and before you know
it there's a pile on the floor.
One from uncle Jack which comes every year without fail
who's mind is still with it but his old and frail.
He never forgets to send a card but you can tell by his
writing that this may be his last Christmas regard.
Designer cards full of sparkle and folly, ones with Christmas
trees and wreath's of holly.
Reindeer, Snowmen, coach and horses all these cards
just streching our resources.
Filled with verses of tideings and good cheer and most of
them wishing you happy new year
So where are the cards of the Christmas Nativity with kings
Shepherds, and all the simplicity.
The beautiful cards where Christ was born in a manger so
meek and forlorn; with Mary and Josepth on that Christmas
Morn.
Cards that remember what Christmas is all about, somehow
they have dried up like a river in a drought.
The Christmas Card which every year becomes an
extention caused only by a simple Victorian invention.
Every Christmas there is another name added to the list
that same old cramp always returns to the wrist.