A Christmas Gift
Inspired by a humanitarian act witnessed by Ray J. Whittier, "A Christmas Gift" became the basis of and the title poem for his first self-published book.
"A Christmas Gift" is a collection of holiday poems from the lived life, heart, mind, and eyes of Lynn Poet Laureate, Ray J. Whittier. These poems capture classic snowy December New England coastal tales and the subtle and simple moments all year round that embody the spirit of Christmas.
These recordings were found and remastered after Ray's passing in June 2024. They capture just a few of the hundreds of poems found in the pages of his self-published book, "A Christmas Gift".
May his words and the sound of his voice bring joy and comfort to the countless friends and loved ones who knew him best. And if you're a stranger listening on a cold, December night nestled by your fire amongst the glow of twinkling lights, we hope you find a friend in them, too.
Merry Christmas.
Dedicated to Shirley Whittier, wife and loving mother of 64 years, and to Raymond and his wife Susan of Stratham, NH, Daniel and his wife Mary Ellen of Stratham, NH, and Mark and his wife Maria of Beverly; his daughters Denise Benevento and her husband Vincent of Stratham, NH, Mary Jean Raimo and her husband Michael of Beverly, Paula Funk and her husband Norman of Chaplin, CT, and Christine Moganelli and her husband Michael of Lynn; his brother John and his wife Karen of Fredericksburg, VA, his sister Judith McBriarty and her late husband John of Milford, NH; his cousins John Caldwell and his wife Clara of Ocean Ridge, FL and Patricia Chadbourne of Lynn; his friend Teddy; and his 20 grandchildren and 16 great-grandchildren.
Created by a loving grandson, who misses his "Grampy Ted".
A Christmas Gift
Reflections
Use Left/Right to seek, Home/End to jump to start or end. Hold shift to jump forward or backward.
You can sit by a fire on a cold winter night,
lie in the sun when the weather's right.
You can warm your hands where the wood stove glows,
adorn a cozy coat when the west wind blows.
But no greater warmth will you come to know
than that which comes from watching your little child grow.
What you cannot do, although at times you try,
is to keep those young years
from passing on by.
