I miss my father’s calloused hand in mine
the silence when, on Christmas morn,
we walked into the snowy woods to find
some greens to decorate, adorn
our crib, the stable-scene that brought
a presence and a purpose to candle-eve
when father read from Luke, what’s taught
and as a child I listened, now I grieve
the loss of father’s hand, those simple laws,
beliefs, my simple dreams in Christmas passed.
Today Mary want’s us to think about who (and maybe what) we might miss when holiday season’s are upon us and share it on dVerse Poetics. Here in Sweden there is no Thanksgiving, so the next one is Christmas. Our family used to celebrate the holiday in our cabin in the woods, all alone with no TV, just food and gifts, and a house decorated for Christmas.