In Search of Christmas Black snow fell each Christmas Until the time of sixty-two. Midst all the bustle, Feigned joy of others, There was no joy for me. Each gift like a barbed hook Fastened itself to me And built guilt upon guilt until I cried for an end to it. "Nothing hath befallen you That is not common to all" Kept ringing in my soul, but Surely there must be joy for others. Or were all playing the game well? God sent a wingless Angel That guided me from hell And took me to that Inner Man That He had made so well. A child of beauty, forever there Waiting to take my hand in search Of peace of mind, contentment, joy; All there, just waiting to be owned. Three other Angels, without wings Were sent to guide my path. Gloria, with her "Revolution," Shirley, with her "Dance." And, even Roseanne whose Blacksmith blows of rusty truth Helped forge esteem of self. A rebirth of sorts, an awakening perhaps, That changed the colors of Christmas. The snow falls white and coats my soul, That now can take with joy The gifts to be received. James K. Arnold