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
Isn't That Odd
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Perhaps you could explain to me
a phenomenon I often see.
When driving through a city or town
where road crosses and jaywalkers abound.
This is the question I ask
When you stop your car to let them pass
Why do the young with bodies strong and sneaked feet
take so long to cross the street?
And haven't the strength the good God gave
to raise a hand in a thank you wave?
But the old, who are bent and gray,
rustle and run to get out of your way,
and raise a thank you cane, or give you a nod.
Now isn't that odd?
