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Tuesday, January 1, 2013

POETRY: Holiday verse by Bruce Wales


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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