A Grey Christmas

when we lose sight of love, and loss takes its place when we bear on our cheek the north wind's harsh face when our heart is all full alas, not of joy when sorrow is no stranger and wrapped as a toy it knocks on the door to stay winter's chill but opens the windows just for the thrill and tied to the mantle, each man his own the chimney has fallen each corner, each stone but the hardest of all we forget how to cry and all we recall is the deepening sigh An empty fire we keep it aloft to warm the old house it grows cold so oft and all but a memory is taken away we cannot go back, nor bear to stay lingering on like the leaves out back a constant reminder of all that we lack and once in a while, when the wind blows, or the gray sky graces with snow the leaves, they scatter--we gather about and wonder and wonder, "will they ever run out"