There were four of us,
Two girls and two boys,
Waiting for Christmas without any fuss,
We knew there wouldn't be many toys.
Our house had burned down and we lost everything.
So we knew there wouldn't be much
for Santa to bring.
Dad got a tree, and we got as busy as a bee,
Making decorations out of cardboard,
wrapping paper and paste,
We had no time to waste.
We strung popcorn on a string,
Dad told the Christmas story and we would all sing.
We went to bed that Christmas Eve,
When we woke up it was hard to believe.
There were presents for all,
I got a sled, books and doll.
That Christmas meant a lot to me,
The love was the most important thing you see.
A poem by May Joan Mitchell Ross Williams. When she was a child, my father Richard convinced Everett that they could do well in Maine. The family moved to the Ridge Road in Littleton, Maine. Evidently the house had been foreclosed on recently. The disgruntled former owner set fire to the house and they lost everything. I guess Everett built a cabin for them to live in. They had very little for a while. Eventually they moved back to Massachusetts as there was little work available.
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