Memorial
deep in darkness, paper-thin
is red-green winter glass
buried beneath old memories
that breathe of love and light.
it smells of life still vivid and deep
of holidays long ago
though covered in dust and left alone
it shines with fragile joy.
an eye brought close could see
great stories glowing there
it's loud, it's soft, it's full and free
of life behind the glass.
it tells of gifts and muttered songs
around a winter tree
of socks and sweets and paper-shreds
around the children's feet.
they scream, they laugh, then run to play
with precious things they found
delivered to them-- from whom, who knows?
a secret just some know.
the children leave, their lives go on
without the ball of glass
it's packed away and left to rest
in a corner of negligence.
shadows creep and memories die
but the ball of glass lives on
forgotten, in hiding-- but shining still
a light of Christmas past.