This year, no Christmas carolers sing
And new toys remain attic things;
We wait for telephone’s shrill ring
To bring forth gifts and old playthings.
Beneath cold starry skies the toys,
And this old house, await the boys--
That grandchild visits retrace old joys
Of children’s onetime playful noise.
This aging house, with Yule tree trimmed,
Awaits in vain that cheerful din;
You see, now we’re the traveling kin.
The car is ready, Dear. Get in!
first published in Time of Singing
first published in Time of Singing
©1997 Bonnie Manion