Christmas Street

I close my eyes.

I see cinnamon and mace,
crisp snow, and tinsel garlands hang,
hear children sing the songs we sang
of frosty windows webbed like lace.

Oh to be in Christmas Street,
and taste the cake and turkey there,
to fly in frozen curling air
instead of sleepless summer heat!

Oh to rest in covers white
of icy lakes and pine-tree rain,
instead of waking here again,
in moonless sun and sunless night!

I close my eyes.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.