by Gerard J. Surprenant

In great despair this time of year,
I plod through snowdrifts wandering.
Not knowing why I tread this way,
With idle muses squandering.

Penniless as a pauper's son,
In need of some protection
I drop into recesses made
By others' worn rejections.

In light I search for reasons why
The sun has shown for many.
Still, during this His Christmas tide,
No ray has found me, any.

But while I sleep, in dreams alone,
I feel the warmth of love's bright fires
And drift through scenes of caring times
Content with my heart's desires.

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