Oh Requiem for the days of old. When children waited up stairs in their rooms wake early on Christmas morning, Waiting for first light to break. And upon such time, to come bolting down the stairs. Thunderous plodding of feet down the stairs to the room where the Christmas tree stands in all its glory of days now long gone. Beneath it now what was not there the night before. Presents by many.
Now as I turn my head I see the table behind me, A tiny tree beautifully adorned with ornaments. And all the Irony of what I have written. And yet Not irony but in simple elegance, much to my bemusement. TO which upon this time of half into the hour of five in the morning I say to all:
HAPPY HOLIDAYS
