Looking Through Stained Glass

Come Christmas Morning

  “Hush little baby, don’t say a word…”
Her little soul relaxes with each word sung
Off in the distance holiday music is heard
And the bell ending the Eve's service is rung

She’s wishing for a friendship hat
In colors her mother said were “merry”
Tomorrow she would be happy with just that
But she’d really wouldn’t mind a canary

Curled like a bird in its mother's nest
She’s enjoys the warmth of her mother’s arms
Held protectively, possessively to her mother’s breast
She falls asleep without qualms

She dreams of a life different than all she’s known
One filled with toys and celebrations
Being warmed by a fire in a place of their own
Unaware their grate’s losing its radiation

She wakes but for a moment beneath the crown of frost
Not knowing rocking from her mother’s shaking
Much too young to understand all of winter’s cost
So unaware her mother’s life may be the price it’s taking

She burrows in what is left of her mother’s warm hold
Hoping the cold will soon abate
She stays put as she’s always been told
And come Christmas morning, for both, it’s too late



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raivenne@theraivenne.com

© 2005 Raivenne (All rights reserved)

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