With watchful eyes, an ear to the floor. Supposed to be snug in bed. Yet spying thru the crack in the door. A wondering eye,Waiting for santa to see. I wonder if they know the guy in red is me?
With pillows packed around each side. A jolly face, a sack as tall as it is wide. I place the presents round the tree. With a deep voice. I say you know where good children should be?
I hear the scamper of little feet.To their beds they run. Their hearts skipping a beat.I did my thing the deeds been done. Playing santa is what makes Christmas fun.
Looking back to Christmas' past. My children grown. I wish the feeling could last. But now all is silent on Christmas eve. Noone here but my wife and me.
We cuddle near the fire, talking bout the Christmas' past. Funny how things transpire. And only memories last. Treasure every Christmas, For memories is what they'll be. As with Christmas past, only a memory.
Originally Posted On Site: 2009-12-12 05:37:27
Last Login: 05.24.12
Visits as of 12-12-07: 92
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