Christmas Eve was magic
a long time ago.
Holly, ivy
and mistletoe.
We'd lie awake waiting
for Santa to arrive,
My brothers and I,
the youngest of five.
We knew it was Dad
but we didn't let on.
Me, Mark, George,
Steven and John.
We'd empty our stockings
in the middle of the night,
opening our presents
with shrieks of delight.
The roaring log fire,
the smell of mince pies.
Such happy memories
bring tears to my eyes.
Though they no longer see
and my body is frail.
I'm the last to survive.
No more cards to mail.
I looked after Mum
then Dad till they died.
Oh how I loved them,
Oh how I cried.
I'd liked to have married,
had kids of my own
but it wasn't to be
so I sit here alone.
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