Poetry & Prose

Christmas with Kyle

We go through every year the same,
A stocking hung to show her name.
The night is cold, the darkness deep,
And I will search for who’s to blame.

We sit to eat the quiet weep
Of eyes that yearn for peace of sleep.
I try so hard to give good grace,
But fail, for hope I cannot keep.

Through stale refrain we try to trace
The memory of her fading face.
It’s carved in stone that all is lost;
A daughter’s, sister’s warm embrace.

This Christmas time our eyes are glossed.
But winter came without first frost,
And Mother keeps her fingers crossed,
And Mother keeps her fingers crossed.

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