The stiff, white collar
Was tight around his neck,
And with two fingers
He would stretch it,
For comfort and for custom’s sake.
A burley Father Christmas,
With white beard and a hearty laugh,
He passed it on to me,
The shirt, to keep and store it
For some future day.
Many years it has so hung,
Empty and deprived of use,
A memory of childhood days.
Now, out of necessity,
I took it from the shadows,
To find it graces you.
And quite as if by chance
You fill the shirt, and make
My days an endless celebration,
With gifts of patience, trust and love.
© jsmorgane (Nov 2010)