Merry Christmas, Baby

the clouds have clamped a tight lid
on the whole of the harbor
and all of the bay that can be seen
from Ned's Point
this Christmas Morning,
as I sit, pensive, praying
to some god, somewhere,
thanking her for the gift of You;
I am, all told, not much of a man,
surely not one to be remembered
in history books
or nursery rhymes,
but I have had a few looks,
and more than a few times
that may be worth recounting,
the sum total of which
might be something amounting
to something;
but the best, for sure,
has been saved for last,
time with You, loved, and passed.



December 25, 2009, for the Wifey.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.