From the cobblestone path and onto the snow,
The townspeople rushing rampantly to and fro;
Everything is brandishing in all directions.
Surrounded by this activity,
A young boy remains in his passivity.
Knowing that Christmas will be quite thin,
He doesn’t even try to force a grin.
“O there is no hope!” the boy sighs,
Soundly strolling in the slush.
Though the joy of Christmas is quite thrilling,
Through the boy’s heart it is drilling,
And nothing could act as the filling.
The agony built up inside,
The tension that will reside,
The longevity of this frustration
Brings the motive of his indignation.
Alas, a trip home is strongly suggested.
Turning round the corner,
Past the store windows and though the alley ways,
Approaching the boarding house and halting there,
Outside the door, a post light stood so fair.
The light itself was ordinary,
But the post presented itself as extraordinary,
Dressing itself with shimmering tinsel,
And paper Christmas trees embellished with a green colored pencil.
An extravagant crimson bow was encased below the dim light.
Suddenly there came a feeling the boy could not fight.
Bursting through the double doors and running down the hall,
The boy came to find the most joyous sight of all…
A Christmas tree flourished with ornaments of every size and shape,
From colors to patterns to textures in which your mind could escape.
Pleasantly interrupting this glorious stare,
Comes the young boy’s father,
With snow melting in his hair.
Withdrawn from the urban sprawl,
He announces the most glorious Christmas wish of all.
“The bleak days of the depression are over!”
A career is retrieved and a decent income is acquired.
And for the first time, the boy is inspired.
For once this Christmas is delightful,
And never again to be spiteful.