the dry rustle of decorative paper
and remembering its Christmas day.
Stockings left on the foot of our beds
with mysteries inside deforming their shape
and tugging them out leaving them,
opened and barely examined,
while more excavations take place.
The rest of the day passed in a blurr
till the curtains were drawn
and the things cleared away and
the scent filled the room
of fir tree needles
gently being roasted
in the near-by yellow,
mysterious,
rich wonderful glow of
candles fixed to the tree,
the lights turned off and
Silent Night Holy Night
and Away in a Manger
a baby awakes,
and shepherds hearing
angels singing,
and in the warmth,
surrounded by love,
I'm holding my mummy's hand.
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