Dad's Tree House
DAD'S TREE HOUSE
When I dream of Santa,
of course, you are he
stacking my presents
under the tree.
Even though I plotted
how I could catch you,
sleep came so sudden
that I never met you.
But as I grew older
those things I forgot.
You wanted my life now,
every dream, every thought.
I laughed, I smiled at you,
but I was not free
for the world was your tree house
where you could hide me.
Janet Marie Bingham
Copyright © Janet Bingham | Year Posted 2018
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