Happy New Years to my
Christmas Tree
By Bruce Wales
There's always that
eve when I sit with the tree
with its ornaments,
lights, and new orbs
when I feel I have
missed the season's best dish
of holiday's meanings
and forms.
I collar the dog to
sit near its base
and trigger their
photo for sure,
a memory to save for
me and mine
to prove it was
Christmas again.
I've taken some sips
of some sherry or wine
to lighten, yet savor
the time
of recurring hist'ries
and meanings of times,
when childhood was
life's biggest lens,
And hopes were the
fuel that burned in my breast
before there was feint
or deceit
and life would be
nothing but what I would plan
and love would come
without behest.
So, New Years Eve, it
happens this year
that we sit alone with
the tree,
Morose a bit, alone a
bit,
even needles are
drying alone.
I will stand up tall
ignoring the toll
and brazen my life
till it's gone,
and walk up the hill
to get my life's fill
long after this
evergreen's gone.
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