Gathered in a swirling pile,
the snapshots left from yesterday’s mile
a thing of beauty in a top-shelf height,
a forgotten box of Christmas lights.
When I was a boy, oh many years prior
I oft warmed my toes by our front room fire
and played, while December’s long cold nights
were brightly lit by our Christmas lights.
And nights were filled with childish dreams,
dreamed just yesterday, or so it seems.
And nightmares seldom ruled the nights
when our house was warmed by Christmas lights.
And gentle reminders that all was well
when Grandpa invited, “come sit a spell”.
And his woven tales brought great delights
beside the glow of our Christmas lights.
It’s been quite a while now, since that sweet day
when life was all lollipops, ice cream and play.
And life is oft filled with real pains and frights
and I tend to forget the old Christmas lights.
But long about now in the days of December
I find myself remembering how to remember.
And the memory awakens those dormant sights
and I can’t help but giggle, when I see Christmas lights.
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