Hours before tolls rang of Christmas midnight
My godchild quite young, cuddled me real tight,
Above, he pointed at the biggest star
Then named it after me, brilliant from afar.
My heart sang with his boyish thoughtfulness
Amidst revelry, cheers started to progress
Tidings and food graced the house and pine tree;
Opening gifts on eve of jubilee.
Beside my loot stood a wobbly paper bag
With drawings my fingers had to untag
Surprised, I murmurmed my holiday wish;
Inside was a handmade star on creped varnish.
Teary-eyed, a note of love written down
Across a pad trimmed with bows all around;
His precious gift made breaths rise, to exhale
Oh, from a child who couldn’t rightly spell!
Contest: Deb Wilson's The Perfect Christmas Gift
Poet: nette onclaud