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"
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