Poems by Ann D. Stevenson

Christmas here once more,
hard to ignore, festive
wreaths on every door.

Housed inside is needled
pine, bright baubles shine
with tiny twinkling lights.

Trees glow, festive music
flows, lifts up hearts, baking
starts, excitement grows.

Little sticky fingers help frost
white icing on the cake, set mini
figures among the snowy peaks.

Traditional food abounds,
turkey with all its trimmings,
a flame-lit Christmas pudding.

Snaps of bursting crackers,
scattered paper hats and jokes,
sounds of popping corks.

Glasses brimmed with bubbles
of good cheer - that's how it is
for some - at this time of year.

Together for over fifty years,
times of laughter and of tears.
I fell in love with all his charms,
could dance forever in his arms.

Except he didn't dance.

He preferred to ride a horse
I'd only ride if I was forced.
He loved dogs - I must confess
I thought they made a lot of mess.

We always had a dog.

I love people and talking,
he would rather be walking.
I like to paint and write,
he felt that was alright.

But he would rather read.

He liked to ski,
that was not for me.
I like to shop,
he definitely did not.

We both had fun in the sun.

It was not a perfect match,
but he was quite a catch,
and now that he is here no more
I feel stranded on an empty shore.

Half of me has gone.