When winter arrived, and the sky blushed with rosy, pink,
You’d grin and say, “Mrs. Claus must be baking cookies again.”
One Christmas, you made me believe Santa had visited—
You showed me a Polaroid, your proud piece of proof:
From the chimney hung your boots, covered with soot.
One year, Mom whisked me to the mall, where I sat on Santa’s knee,
And I had no idea it was you behind the beard, not the man of my dreams.
All the goodies, tucked gently beneath our tinseled tree.
Each one a treasured memory of love, you gave to us all.
I was lucky to call you “Dad,” a gift I’ll always recall.
Steady on the ladder, you strung the lights with pride.
Each bulb a shimmer in the long winter night.
I only wish our Christmases hadn’t ended so soon.
Everyone knew Mom adored the holidays, but you did too—
And when the first white snowflakes fall, I won’t feel blue.
As the angel children carve in the snow, I see traces of you.
