I see the snowflakes form
as the wind sweeps them across the yard.
The chimney smokes wood,
heating the house unevenly.
Candles light bright and full,
filling the house with essence.

My sister and mother build dough,
kneading to solid, forming consistency.
The roller forms a flat sheet,
while flour prevents sticking.
Shapes get applied:
trees, stockings, and bells.

The cookies, fresh and warm,
baked to a golden crisp.
My mother spreads a smooth layer
of creamy frosting across each.
My sister and I prepare our hands,
to delicately spread colorful sprinkles.

Plates of decorated cookies,
tempting to be devoured with milk.
We preserve our edible art, 
filling the fridge with plates.
As we complete all of our masterpieces
our hands, sore, stiff and sticky.

Family gathers to celebrate
the birth of our Father and Savior.
Relatives eat our art,
each bite lighting their faces.
As snow dances in the yard,
our family bond strengthens.