Poem: December Sixth

shoes lined neatly by the door;
polished and gleaming with hope,
that Saint Nicholas, once more,
would leave sweet treats by morning.

those dreams shaped from saintly lies,
made me try to do my best;
to yearly earn my surprise
on December sixth each year.

why does magic fade away,
as we slip out of wonder?
growing older with each day,
knowing more; and seeing less.

I would, if I could, believe
that spirits come to my aid;
yet I cannot. so I grieve
for the naive bliss I’ve lost.

Saint Nicholas no longer,
slips past my deadbolts and locks
– leaving my shoes to hunger
for things that will never be.



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