by Robert P. Hoffman

It’s eleven o’clock on Christmas Eve.
The kids are finally in bed.
Santa has come.
Gifts are under the tree.
Excitement and play, tomorrow morn,
This is what Christmas brings to me.

It’s eleven o’clock on Christmas Eve.
The customers have gone their way.
I count receipts.
We had a good year.
Expansion of the shop will come soon.
This is what Christmas brings to me.

It’s eleven o’clock on Christmas Eve.
The faculty lounge is shut down.
We had our debate
On who Jesus was,
Philosopher, teacher, radical.
This is what Christmas brings to me.

It’s eleven o’clock on Christmas Eve.
I’m alone in the cold and snow.
All hope is gone.
My wife died last month.
Sadness and sorrow, I’ll take a drink.
This is what Christmas brings to me.

It’s eleven o’clock on Christmas Eve.
The small church is filled to the brim.
Song in the air, 
Tonight, Christ is born.
Persecution, joy, hope for all ages,
This is what Christmas brings to me.

Not presents, not cash or credit receipts,
Not philosopher or teacher,
Not loss of hope,
But joy and mercy,
King, Lord of All, Savior of Mankind,
This is what Christmas brings to me.

Jesus birth in David’s town on that very night, 
Mary and Joseph with the baby
Wrapped in cloths, 
Lying in the straw, 
Angels singing, shepherds wondering,
This is what Christmas brings to me.

Christmas brings the Savior.

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Robert P. Hoffman M.D. is a Professor of Pediatrics at Nationwide Children’s Hospital and The Ohio State University College of Medicine. He is a pediatric endocrinologist and not a poet but was inspired to write this about 2 weeks before Christmas 2025. He is most known for his scientific writing.