Another Christmas month is upon us, following it seems quickly on others that have been. Such is the relativity of Time, it is not yesteryear, but could be yester‐month or even yester‐week. The seasons pass like youth, all too soon. Our minds return to other Christmas months of yore — “Memories are like Christmas roses!”, the old saying goes. The children, singing much‐loved hymns and carols, happy family settings, a birth, christening, so much to look forward to in the new year. There are not always such happy memories, but memories just the same — Christmas in war‐time, Earth's joys growing dimmer each year, change and decay, life drawing to a close for many a soul; old folk tend to see Christmas as a time of passing, of leaving the world behind.
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