His Last Christmas Eve
There stands a tree, in the dark.
Out in the lot, cold and stark.
It's Christmas Eve in the city.
It's oddly shaped, kind of bent.
Branches bare of Ornament.
No colored lights twinkling pretty.
Comes a hush, while church bells ring.
Hear the choirs begin to sing,
as snow begins to fall gently.
A homeless man, shuffles past.
Hunched against winters blast.
Stops, for the shelter of the tree.
He hears the bells and the songs.
Raspily he sings along.
Smiling faintly, at childhood memories.
As snow settles on the boughs,
removes his cap, from his brow.
Places it atop the leaning tree.
To view his star, he steps back,
coughing deep as his lungs rack.
Life, has not treated him kindly.
He sits down beneath the tree,
pulls round his tattered coat closely.
Feeling cold, tired and hungry.
This old man, alone in life.
Fought in wars, lost his wife.
Wanders now, the streets, aimlessly.
He who never prayed before.
Never passed through a church door.
Tonight he whispers, reverently....
"Lord, I'm not the best of men."
"I've committed grievous sins."
"They've led me here, now, to what you see".
"There's no one else, I can blame."
"I must answer, for my own shame."
"I only ask, can you forgive me?"
As his eyes, begin to close,
he sees one last time, the tree decked in snow.
Swears, he hears Angels heavenly.
He no longer feels the weather.
He now feels light as a feather,
as he dreams, on his last Christmas Eve
Copyright © Paula Swanson | Year Posted 2010
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