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Long Holiday Poems | Long Holiday Poetry

Long Holiday Poems. Below are the most popular long Holiday by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Holiday poems by poem length and keyword.

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Long Poems
Long poem by Sarah Bryant | Details |

Tavira, Algarve, my home town

Tavira 

Tavira is my town
The place I call my home
Rich in history
Much like me
Many secrets does it hold
Ancient times still apparent
Different people now
A different time

How many footsteps have trodden the cobbled streets?
With donkeys or on foot
How many couples once kissed on the seven arch bridge?
Warm tender embraces
How many photographs posed for?
From dawn through till night
Memories locked safe
To reflect, to smile
Making a history of your own

From medieval times to modern day
The river flows silently towards the Oceans mouth
Two rivers twine, the Gilão and the Sequa  
No one knows why it has two names
Another secret never to be told
Tavira is a town to find yourself
To discover, to explore
To sit beside the river
Peaceful and serene
Enjoy an expresso in the brilliant sunshine
Or relax in the shadow
And dream

My town has many churches
37 so I hear
Glorious magnificence on display
The carvings of another life on the walls
Depicting the life of Jesus for us to see
The Igreja da Misericórdia
Said to be the best
But there are many to admire for sure
Structures centuries old
A place of prayer
A holy site 
Speak to God in his own home
Feel welcomed, arms embrace

Walk up worn steps to the top of the town 
Draw pure fresh air down into your lungs
“The view of Tavira” awaits silently
For that first gasp as you see what it hides 
Visit the restaurant of the same name
“A Ver Tavira” for that special treat
Magnificent views of the river and town displayed below
Whilst you wine and dine your loved ones 
Romantic and inspirational
Feel the tranquillity
Feel vigorous and strong
The world is out there waiting to be grasped
Reach out your hands and touch it
It’s there

Nearby we are proud of our castle
Tavira boasts one of its own
With a gate fit for a king
King Manuel I was the first to walk through
In the 13th century, long ago
Preserved and protected
On display for us to admire
Take a step back in history
Feel the ambience, feel alive

Ilha da Tavira, the island of golden sands
Lining the glistening ocean
The gentle waves lapping your feet
Inviting into its swell
A scene of pure sanctity
What better place to contemplate
To dream, be yourself
Make castles in the sand

Tavira has plenty of seating
Benches are dotted around the town
Socialising a way of life here
Happy faces, laughter
Affectionate greetings, emotional goodbyes
Families visiting relatives
Holidaymakers enjoying the atmosphere
Tavira staying in their hearts forever

Restaurants are full
Serving local cuisine
Octopus the speciality here
Not to all tastes I admit
But the choices are plenty
Fish freshly caught is a must
As is medronho, or firewater as it is known
One quick shot, straight down in one
Warms your heart in a different way

Small cafes are thriving too
Tables filled with wine, beer and coffee
Outside the streets are flourishing
Musicians presenting their talent
Stalls line the streets in the summer
Selling trinkets and local goods
If shopping’s your thing you’re in luck
There are many to choose from here
From jewels of the finest kind
Or an ashtray as a souvenir 

Turtles guard the bandstand
Silently they watch
This bustling town full of people
Its history never forgotten
Many statues stand proud and tall
The monument in Praça da Republica
Remembering the First World War
A permanent legacy to them
And to others who fought and returned

With Cabanas to the east
Santa Luzia to the west 
Tavira sits in the middle
A secret uncovered
It surrounds you like the biggest hug
A town where hopes and dreams are achieved 
Memories made and kept forever

The secrets I will keep safe
Make my own history and recreate
In the heart of the Algarve is Tavira
In my heart it will stay
A special place
Unchanged
Much like me
Tavira is the place to be
Tavira is my home

Copyright © Sarah Bryant


Long poem by Cynthia Alvez | Details |

The Day Before The Night Before Christmas

I wrote this poems some years ago when I was invited to be on a television program to read a Christmas poem to children as they gathered around me...I had not written a Christmas poem when the invitation was extended and wondered what to write as there were so many Christmas poems already...It was then I decided to write about the day before the night before Christmas...thus this poem which the children and listening audience enjoyed...

The Day Before The Night Before Christmas
It was December the 23rd
And Santa was packing his sleigh
Saying to his reindeer, "We've got
Lots of traveling to do today,
Tomorrow is Christmas Eve and I
Have lots of surprizes up my sleeve!"
The reindeer grumbled and were ill-at-ease,
Santa was worried and asked "
aren't you pleased?"
One reindeer who asked not to be identfied,
Stepped forward and replied,
"Christmas now is just a word!"
The other reindeer joined in,
"There is no peace on earth,
No good will between men!"
"No good will between people!" a liberated reindeer
Chirped in.
Santa was aghast and could not believe what he
Had just heard,
It startled him, it made him sad,
Why, Christmas was the time of year to make folks glad.
A time for celebration, for spreading good cheer,
A joyful, happy time of year!

"I'll do some spot checking!" Santa said to Mrs. "C"...
"Christmas has lost its true meaning, this cannot be!"
"This is tragic!"
And with a little Santa magic, he transformed himself
Into a little child with a polka dot face,
This way he could represent every race...

He went caroling the world over and begged
Passers-by, "Please sing along!"
But no one would join him in song.
Santa was cold,
His coat was tattered and torn...
No one offered him shelter,
They looked upon him with scorn.

He stopped at several houses but no one
Would let him in...
Some shouted, "Come back again!"
They were busy decorating and wrapping 
Presents galore,
But no one would open their door.
Santa saw a family strolling hand in hand,
"What does Christmas mean to you?"
He asked stepping up to the man.
"Presents for one and all said he!
"Trees a glitter, houses in holiday dress!"
Said she.
"Toys!" said the little one, jumping with glee...
"If you are really good, Santa will bring you a color TV!"
"But he won't find your house on the other side
of the track,
You are poor and ugly with that polka dot face,
I know Santa won't find your place!"
They laughed and scoffed, 
"Why you are a disgrace!"

"Christmas means a brand new car!" said the next
Hurried gent,
The next lady said, "Christmas made me spend every cent!"
Poor Santa was really sad,
No one had said Merry Christmas,
"This is really bad."
He shook his head as he pondered, "Is Christmas really dead?"

No one mentioned the babe in the manger,
Or the wise men who traveled afar.
No one mentioned Mary or Joseph or the
Bright guiding star.
Santa slumped his shoulders
He head beack home,
His heart was heavy, he felt all alone.

The suddenly, bells chimed; it was Christmas eve.
A lone man appeared and took the little child Santa
By his tattered sleve.
"Come child," he said softly, "I'll share my meal with you,
It is not much but it should warm you through and through."
He wrapped his worn scarf around Santa's cold head
Santa thanked him...
"Merry Christmas!" the stranger said, "I am traveling to
Bethlehem" and he was gone again.

Marry Christmas!" said Santa ss the stranger disappeared
From sight..."Christmas lives!" he shouted,
"The reindeer were wrong and I was right!

Carrolers sang in the distance,
Deck The Halls!  Silent Night


Copyright © Cynthia Alvez


Long poem by Scott Bronner | Details |

Christ Child

In eternity past, the Father asks the Son to go down.
Having equal Love for humans the "Yes" comes fast.
When Creation leads to time, the world waits for 4 BC
Marking the start of the end of Satan's long rule at last.

Did Satan laugh at the poor setting for Jesus' birth here?
A cry in a cave for animals pierces the night, changing all.
Shepherds worship; later wise kings give precious gifts.
Mary and Joseph marvel, yet Herod's rage soon gives a call.

A call to leave quickly to Egypt where they'll live as refugees.
Sparing the Christ child a merciless death of those under three.
When Herod finally dies, Jesus' parents head back to Israel.
Still not fully safe from mad rule, Nazareth is their destiny.

Here the child will grow to be a man, following His parents rule.
Surprising the Pharisees with His wisdom at 12, at 30 riling them.
Preaching with authority, healing the incurable, loving the humble.
Women weep repenting at his feet; one's healed by touching his hem.

Zacchaeus risks going into a tree and finds Jesus' salvation so free.
Nicodemus comes at night to ask and ends amazed he's met God's Son
The Woman at the Well gets far more vital water than the usual kind.
And many healed can't but tell others of the miracle God has done.

The babe in the manger now stills the storm and his disciples believe
Even seeing the dead arise, like Lazarus in the tomb for four days.
Foretelling a greater rising coming but not before immense suffering.
The sword Mary was told would pierce her heart is soon on its way.

For most religious leaders cannot tolerate Jesus' lack of respect for them.
Calling them whitewashed tombs and pointing pride out to Pharisees.
Not endearing Himself with the establishment, but following God's way.
Knowing soon He'd be betrayed, arrested, tried and tortured brutally.

Still, he calmly feeds them body bread and blood wine in a final feast.
Tells them the Spirit comes, and prays they'd be one like Father and Son.
Heads to the Garden, prays to His Father for another way if possible.
Your will be done ends and the soldiers come and with Judas kiss it's done.

The most pure, innocent Man who's ever lived is now in hostile hands.
A trial by dark without witness or any rights – and off to Pontius Pilate.
Then Herod then back to Pilate whose wife dreamed Jesus was innocent.
But the people's cries to crucify win over – Jesus caught in intrigue's net.

The child of Bethlehem now hung on a Cross between two criminals.
The Light of the World by darkness and our sins is being slowly slain.
Feeling forsaken by God, but then "Into Your hands I commit my spirit."
Reunited and soon to show the world that this Child was no ordinary one.

Risen as Jesus predicted, for how can death conquer everlasting, perfect life?
From childhood to adult not one sin, not once yielding to Satan's temptations.
Proving we can have life eternal if we confess and believe in Jesus as our Savior.
Calling His followers in risen form to await the Spirit and share Christ to the nations

Copyright © Scott Bronner


Long poem by Carol Eastman | Details |

Kitty Claus

On a cold, cold night with a touch of snow, a cat wished quietly and sadly for a home.
For a year he’d found nowhere with love to call home. Yes, he’d been, so very, very alone.
He lived under a deserted car now, where his family had lived long ago, for a while.
They were now gone to a new home, and he feared, he couldn’t carry on without them, my dear.
So before going to bed he wished on a star, which appeared ever so brightly above, from far. 
All he wanted from anyone was some food, and to sleep next to a warm, warm fire, too.
As he fell asleep he also wished for a hand to touch his fur, gently and kindly, again.
Then he awoke to a sound he’d heard once before, as Christmas bells had tolled, long ago… He was sure.
That night an old man in red had come from out of nowhere, to take his family a new home, so fair.
Scared by the sleigh and the reindeer he drove, the cat had run away, that I know to be true. 
But not any more would he run away, his legs would no longer take him very far, any way.
He grabbed all his courage and around he snuck, until hiding under a bush nicely tucked.
There before him was a jolly old man with his reindeer and sleigh lined up, yes, again.
The man was dressed in warm, warm clothes, and stopped to lay down a beautiful bowl.
The man then turned away to do business forthright, inside the neighboring house that night.
I swear on my heart that this is ever so true, as the cat crept closer giving curiosity it’s due.
Coming closer he could sense the most wonderful smell, calling him forward, as if under a spell.
The bowl was filled with warm, warm cream, which he licked up fast as if caught in a dream.
Moments later the man came from that house, with a smile and a wink for that dear old cat.
The man in red picked up the bowl with a quiet demand, urging him gently to stroll to his hand.
Now was the dilemma to run, or to stay, but it was the large shining star that decided it all that day.
As he stood before that great big man in red, the star beckoned brightly from behind the man’s head.
The cats’ fears left as the man stayed with a smile and a grin, and a Ho Ho Ho that day, my friend.
He realized here was the home he’d wanted for so long, and had dreamt in his head, where he could belong.
Some how, he knew he’d be safe in that beautiful sled, and warm in that coat the color of red.
He came forward to lick and nuzzle the man, as yes; he was picked up gently, in his hand.
The jolly old man put him snug in his coat, as a red nosed reindeer winked from the front, I must note.
Then the man climbed in and sent forward the sleigh, as the cat curled up to sleep, the rest of the way.

Miracles can happen each day, at the hand of others who are wise and kind, I say.
This jolly old man was right in this deed, and ever so wise to stop and kind to care, you see…
So I’ll let you in on a little secret I know… 
They lived happily ever after, at the North Pole.

Copyright © Carol Eastman


Long poem by Trevor McLeod | Details |

Halloween Story

Quatrain Poem (23 Stanzas)
Halloween Story-by Trevor McLeod


As a child I remember well
how Halloween would interest me.
When school would end and I'd head home.
The leaves ground low and chasing me.

The air was cool that I'd feel light
and scents of leaves gave strength.
As I would rush into the wind
and think of home in length.

Where mom stood by the counter
and tea sat on the stove.
It's cozy sending signals
in mom's eyes by the drove.

My father came in early.
The rush was on the night.
My parents and my sisters
excited by the plight.

Slow to reach the table.
Cautious in our manners.
We all sat down to supper
content as little planners.

Quick to leave the meal.
My sister first to flee.
We rummaged through our costumes
deciding who'd we be.

For clothing we had everything.
All we'd mix and match.
We thought of our ideas
for costumes that we'd hatch.

I knew already what I'd be.
I searched through clothes with zest.
Till soon I found a simple mask
then later found a vest.

This night I would be Robin.
A hero of the night.
The clever Batman's partner
who loved a challenged fight.

I almost had it all.
A costume near complete.
Until I saw the panyhose.
The thought that made me freak.

My mother shot towards them
strengthened by my choice.
Then boldly said she'd dye them
in green with full rejoice.

The time soon brought the darkness.
On time to trick or treat.
As anxious as we were
we're scared with lighter feet.

We stepped out in the cool night
fearing we're to early.
Then when we reached the second house,
began to walk more surely.

And surely was the way I felt.
Now floating in my tights.
Why Robin every wore a mask
was just one of those blights.

Free to leap to peoples doors.
The breeze between my legs.
A Catholic I thought quick of sin
while fast upon my pegs.

The time I saved as I could run:
in tights seemed nowhere there.
collecting candy door to door
not acting like I care.

The night went by in simple grace.
My leaping in light bounds.
Contributing to much more candy
and look some said astounds.

Arriving home when it got late.
My shame checked at the door.
I said that I would do it again
and shook right from the core.

I stepped inside with greater zounds.
My sisters home awhile.
All holding bags of trick or treat,
they dump them in a pile.

My mom and dad are quick to speak.
They warn us all of blades.
They tell us throw our apples out.
Don't take a chance in spades.

I dumped my bag out on the floor.
The kisses everywhere.
While not my favourite candy made,
I'll trade for something fair.

We chomped the candies for an hour
till bedtime saw us done.
We quietly slipped into our beds
all tired of having fun.

Then as I lay and start to think
how Robin lived with tights.
I remembered all the candy got
with speed -and maybe frights.

Copyright © Trevor McLeod


Long poem by Eve Roper | Details | . You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/_whats_up_with_santa_623495' st_title=' What's up with Santa'>

What's up with Santa

                                             What’s up with Santa
                                            He's acting like a child.
                        Santa Claus is upstairs in his big red sleigh bed, 
                           warm and cozy in his red flannel comforter, 
                           wearing his red dropseat pajamas, and hat
                                               sick with the flu, 
                                       constantly ring that darn bell. 

                                          Ting-a-ling, Ting-a-ling … 
                                             There it goes again 
                             Yessss… Dearrrr… I know you don’t feel good,
                           your throat hurts and is sore when you swallow 
                  your body is in pain, like a herd of reindeer has run over it 
                 A warm cup of hot cider and a cinnamon stick to give it flavor
                                               will ease the pain.

                                  I should have never given him that bell  
 
                                           Ting-a-ling, Ting-a-ling … 
                       Yessss… Dearrrr… I know your frequently, coughing 
                       is making your rib cage feels like it’s going to break
                          I will get some milk and chocolate chip cookies  
                                  so you don’t have to get out of bed

                    I wish Santa would quit constantly ringing that darn bell.
                          If he hadn’t shoveled the snow off the sidewalk 
                  and let the elves do their jobs, he wouldn’t be sick right now

                                            Ting-a-ling, Ting-a-ling … 
                     Yeessss… Deeaarrrr… I’m sorry your head is stuffed up, 
                              nose is red, hurts, and won’t quit running
                                 Reading the Naughty or Nice List 
                      will help you not think about what you're going through

                                 What came over me to let him have a bell

                                           Ting-a-ling, Ting-a-ling … 
                Yeessss… Deeaarrrr… You’re running a fever, freezing, and shivering
                               I will go inform the elves not to dawdle
                            keep making the toys in Santa’s workshop 
                           and make sure they take care of the reindeer

                 Oh! My! I hope Santa gets well before Christmas gets here, 
                                 so he’ll get better and out of my hair
                                or I am going to hide that dumb bell

                                                
  
 
By Eve Roper

Copyright © Eve Roper


Long poem by Joe Flach | Details |

The Christmas Kiss

I was sitting in the crowded train station with time to waste, waiting on the train to take me home on Christmas Eve.  A very pretty, young lady, carrying a full backpack headed for one of the only open seats across the aisle from me next to a rather dirty and disheveled older man.

As she removed her backpack to sit down he glared up at her; she smiled a beautiful bright smile and said to him, “Merry Christmas”.

“I don’t celebrate Christmas”, he barked up at her.

“Yeah?  Well, that doesn’t mean you can’t be happy on the day that I celebrate Christmas.  And I hope the day is merry for you as well.”

“What is there to be merry about”, he moaned, “A bunch of hypocritical religious zealots pretending to be nice to one another while the world goes to hell in a hand basket.”

“Well, at least for that one day, most of us believe the hypocrisy, and even for just a few hours, we practice the morals that our religion tries to instill in us.  At least on that one day, for us religious zealots, there is a glimmer of hope that we can save the world from going to hell and, I, for one, believe that is reason to be merry.”

“Terrific!  And, what does that get me,” he whimpered.
	
“Well, what you get is this one time of year, when a twenty-two year old college girl is not afraid to sit next to you; smile at you; and, wish you a Merry Christmas.  And, if you just say, ‘Thank you’ and ‘Merry Christmas’ back to her, she just may give you the biggest and best kiss you have ever experienced.”

She stood back up and started to put her backpack back on as he simply stared up at her.  Once she was situated and ready to move on towards her train, she stopped; smiled at him again; and, said, “Merry Christmas.”

It seems I was not the only stranger that was witnessing this exchange.  All of those around me were perched on the edge of their seats waiting to see what might happen.  The old man cracked a little smile.  A glimmer came to his eyes, and he said, “Thank you.  And, Merry Christmas to you, too.”

The girl leaned down and planted a kiss right on his lips for what seemed like ten minutes.  Smiles lit up the faces of all the men, women and children watching this take place.  When the girl finally pulled back, the old man was frozen in place with a big ole smile on his face.  She adjusted her backpack and started heading towards the tracks.  All the men she passed on her way who witnessed this exchange anxiously yelled, “Merry Christmas” as she passed, hoping for a kiss as well.

I looked back at the old man who was still in a dream.  Suddenly he caught me looking at him and barked, “What are you staring at?”

I just shook my head back and forth and said, “Merry Christmas”.

“Yeah!  Well Merry Christmas to you, too” he shouted.

Copyright © Joe Flach


Long poem by Kelly Deschler | Details |

A Visit From Santa Claus

It was Christmas Eve, not a soul made a sound,
And not so much as a mouse could be found,
The children had hung their stockings on the hearth,
As a quiet, peacefulness gently fell upon the Earth,
My family were all asleep, their heads full of dream,
Of Santa's arrival with his eight reindeer team,

Father in his nightcap, slept soundly in bed,
And Mother in her nightgown of green and red,
When all of a sudden I heard a commotion,
And jumped out of bed with a curious notion,
I ran to the window and pulled open the curtain,
I thought it must be Santa Claus for certain,

New fallen snow shone bright below the moon,
Giving the illusion of daylight in mid afternoon,
I looked out my open window despite the cold,
When a sight met my eyes, wondrous to behold,
A lively, old gentleman aboard a great sleigh,
With eight flying reindeer leading the way,

As quick as a bolt of lightning out of the sky,
He called to each one as they rocketed by,
"Now, Donner! Now, Vixen! Now, Dasher and Dancer,
On, Cupid! On, Blitzen! On, Comet and Prancer,
Leap up to the wall and onto the rooftop,
Dash away all and let us make our first stop!"

They flew through the air with much ease,
Like dry autumn leaves on a sudden breeze,
The reindeer landed so smooth and swift,
Along with Santa and a sleigh full of gifts,

I heard their hoofs pawing upon the shingle,
And joyful laughter from that old Kris Kringle,
I ran downstairs to catch a glimpse of his face,
Just as he came down, out of the fireplace,

He was cloaked in red with a fur trimmed suit,
And covered in soot from his hat to his boot,
A large sack full of presents he carried along,
He opened it up as he hummed a Christmas song,
With much merriment his blue eyes twinkled,
His face was joyful, and yet somewhat wrinkled,

His cheeks were blushed like the berries in holly,
His snow white beard was long and quite jolly,
From his pipe came out a great puff of smoke,
He began his work and not a word he spoke,
Santa Claus was tall, with a belly quite round,
And his laughter was a most glorious sound,

I looked on with glee as a smile crossed my face,
When he approached and gave me a warm embrace,
Then, Santa placed several gifts beneath our tree,
Something for the children, and Father, and me,

He filled the stockings with sugarplums and a toy,
Which I know will delight my little girl and boy,
The midnight hour on the mantel clock chimed,
He turned, then back up the chimney he climbed,

With a whistle he signaled for his reindeer to go,
And away they flew with a hearty, "Ho, ho, ho!,"
Before disappearing Santa exclaimed from his sleigh,
"To all a good night and a Happy Christmas Day!"



(repost)



Copyright © Kelly Deschler


Long poem by Dennis East | Details | . You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/were_really_hotel_people_599555' st_title='We're Really Hotel People'>

We're Really Hotel People

We're living in the Highlands, where we run a B&B,
And folk come here from round the world, the monster for to see.
We get on great with everyone from Eskimos to Mounties,
But the hardest folk to get to know are from the dear ‘Home Counties’.
They seem to have a game plan, and they really make it tough,
They’re the ‘first time up here’ English who expect to find it rough.
They have a preconceived idea; they think that all Scots hate them,
So must quickly grab the upper hand, and then see what fate awaits them.

They book their rooms up months before, and check arrival times,
Then get here as the hour strikes and proceed along these lines.
As even though they’ve driven hours, and invariably it's wet,
Here’s the first words that they utter when they’re stood on our front step:
"You see, we're really ‘Hotel People’, and we never B&B.
And I'm so surprised we're standing here; you see it wasn't up to me.
I'm sure that your home comforts are both adequate and fine,
But we both know there are standards; you've got yours and we've got mine.”

Now, faced with this dilemma as they enter your abode,
Makes you really want to flick them off and send them down the road.
Where hotels are three times our price, and they won't find that funny,
But instead draw consolation from the colour of their money.
Bear in mind they're ‘Southern English’ - and it's all part of their farce,
To knock folk when they meet them, so they'll think they're upper class.

It's all about the image; what you’re driving, what you wear,
So what, if you've a Bentley - I’ve got Saatchi underwear.
And just in case that's not enough, they throw in close relations;
How her sister went to ‘uni’ and now heads United Nations.
Plus, their children have enough degrees to buy you three times over,
And an auntie has a submarine she keeps tied up in Dover.

They must establish the imbalance at the very soonest time,
By reeling off plush purchases and restaurants where they dine.
And then to finally top things off, quote places they frequent,
Where pots and pots of money are so very easily spent.
Know that they cannot help themselves, as when all of this is done,
With their ‘leveling ritual’ exercised, a friendship has begun.

As, come race or creed or wealth or need, you’ll find that they are great,
It's just their way to kick things off, and test if you’re a mate.
For, once you’ve found the common ground and broken all the ice,
You’ve got yourself a brand new friend, who’ll stay with you for life.
You see, those English just don't travel well; they have to raise the flag
They must set you on your back foot, and if all else fails – brag!

Copyright © Dennis East


Long poem by Deanna Schaub | Details |

Winter Winds

Winter winds blow all around. 
I’m astonished by the sounds of Jingle Bells and reindeer stomps. 
All of this should never stop. 
Snow lies on the ground, if only that weren't too profound. 
Time only leads to decay, but not on Christmas, not today. 
You should see the angels pray. 
Toy trains, and rag dolls are the things kids used to want. 
But time has changed, yes so have children… 
Santa seems as if a villain. 
So much fighting, so much crying, it sounds as if the kids are dying. 
“I want money, I want fame, and these toys are just so lame.” 
But that’s the product we provided. 
Second chances are no more, Santa’s plot we wait for. 
He’s sick of this, he doesn't care, it’s as if he’s not wanted here. 
He gets ready to take it all back…. 
WAIT! 
There’s still one toy left in his sack, it’s for a little girl, half a world away. 
Now how could he have missed this, on the perfect Christmas day? 
He turns around, not time for war. 
This toy, the girl is waiting for… It’s not a toy like you’d expect. 
She didn't ask for electronics, or stupid games such as Sonic. 
She just wanted one small thing… 
She’s waiting for something EXTRA special this gloomy day. 
In a bed she sits and stares, at the window near a chair. 
She’s so weak, and all alone. 
She doesn't even have a real home, not where there are bright lights anyways. 
They've decorated a weeping willow, the only tree around the “home”. 
So she has lights to see. 
It’s Christmas after all, but there’s no way to calm the raging sea. 
She’s dying, it won’t take much longer, and she doesn't care about the tree. 
She needs a new heart extra bad. 
So, Santa’s bringing her the one thing, that will stop her parents from being sad. 
He rushes to the hospital in his golden sleigh, and climbs right down the vent, 
He’s saving Christmas today. 
Santa rushes in just in time, finds a doctor, the girl is dying. 
It’s not what he usually does, but he stays and watches as they save her life. 
He waits for her to wake up. 
“Santa, you saved my life, oh thank you so much! I needed my heart to be touched.” 
He just smiles, and kisses her hand. He’s so glad he didn't destroy the land. 
Christmas is still a special day. 
There’s no more sorrow, no, not today. Santa smiles though some are still ungrateful. 
There’s that one child, standing in the snow, her life can now be started in the evening glow. That’s life for the grateful, loving, caring, and the thankful. Most of the time Santa just gives toys. For all the good girls and boys. But not today, and not tomorrow, once a year he gets rid of sorrow. So sleep tight and say your prayers, Christmas time is but once a year.

Copyright © Deanna Schaub


Long Poems