Marcus V Featherstone winged about the morning mist
Contemplating marvelousness if Sally G. he might have kissed
But she’s far too grand, he thinks, for one as insignificant as he
Perhaps if he completed the Annual Race to the toppermost of the Queen’s Tree
The he might could just barely maybe conclude he warrants the attention of said miss
Sally G. foraged amongst the garland vines of fairykind’s farthest field
She commanded by the memory of a certain someone’s cool violet eyes to yield
But he’s far too grand, she thinks, for one as insignificant as she
Perhaps if she completed the Annual Race to the toppermost of the Queen’s Tree
Then she could just might perhaps sort of conclude she warrants his attention to wield
The morning of the Annual Race dawned a foggy and clammy-close though yet Grand Affair
But such was the history and joy of the Queen’s Event that most of fairies did nae much care
But that few reached the canopy and much warning was about the hazards of such a quest
Some trained for years, and though many many failed to summit, they all tried their honest best
Oh, but at Start Time, the mist cleared, the skies blued, and the weather could be a day most fair
Marcus V. would go the southern approach and make his noble stab for glory
Sally thought after the eastern boughs to write the best of her winged story
Neither knew of the others flight plan or even that they would be there
Neither thought the other could possibly think this would be a thing wise to dare
Oh, then clouds shrouded the Sun and the gathering mists promised to turn the day most hoary
Lost in the dark and the fluff Sally alighted on the next promising soft tree bough
Crushed in the knowledge of this failure: what, oh what would she do now
Flying way off course, Marcus drifted ever and more further east
Summiting the Queen’s Tree seemed a dream to be cast off as a need least
But a far soft keening did Marcus and Sally perceive, but to reach the fairy, how
Working bough to bough, the two young winglets sought to help the crying one
Shaking off disappointment as this had been their plan for a heart to be won
Sally got there first to find a wee fairy far too high for his own good
Trying to impress a stern lofty Father as if such heroics ever ever could
Marcus arrived shortly after, tamping down his joy for the good that needed to be done
Down the tree Marcus and Sally silently escorted their frightened cold charge
Stealing glances at each other, young love paused, though their longing loomed large
His Mother flew up to embrace her naughty though ever brave young son
Father too weeping flew up to his boy, holding his loved and cherished one
Sally and Marcus feathered off, such a familial scene they knew not into barge
Marcus V Featherstone flutterbuzz-winged about the morning mist
Sally G foraged amongst the garland vines of fairykind’s farthest field
Remembering how the moment came when longing caused something to yield
And at the foot of the Queen’s Tree, as Marcus made his thanks, his cheek Sally had kissed!
But Sally Gossamer Wingstep already was planning to train for next year’s Queen Tree’s Race
Oh, the horrid errors of Yule
We have all committed:
Mixed up colors to patterns;
Ribbons tied so misfitted.
Gave ‘em the wrong present
Or left on the price tag;
Switched the main big one
With the present that’s a gag!
Quick wrap on Christmas morning—
Oh, what an unsightly cut.
The paper just won’t fold
And I cannot get the box to shut!
Such perils of childhood presenting
On every December 25th;
THEN: Missing one’s front teeth
So every time it’s Saint Nicholith!
Then the unforgiveable crime,
Even if only a kid—
Someone (?) had somehow discovered
Where all the Christmas presents were hid!
So I became a Santa agnostic,
But it was really alright:
And I still get that soul-tug
Whenever we sing “Silent Night.”
And now I have my own child
The best present I ever had!
And should she find where I hid those gifts—
Well, ya know, it just won’t be all that bad!
“Jingle bells, jingle bells…”
Papa come play;
Papa put down your cares today.
Are you really so sad as that?
Did all those days leave you cold and flat?
Papa, tell me no more of that war;
Papa, yes, there are better things in store.
Try not to leave me with your weeping back;
Yes, I see you cry, I see the tears’ crisscross track.
Papa, were they all your friends?
Papa, not all met very bad ends;
Some of you did at last come home—
Some happy, though others are still lost, and roam…
Papa come play;
Papa, look what I drew for you today:
With crayon, a horsie of orange and blue.
O Papa, Mommy and I really love you.
Little Isabelle cradled in her tired Papa’s lap, and one good arm;
Papa pushed out a smile: Father and daughter were now safe and warm.
For Our Veterans: thank you isn’t nearly enough! Bless You!
Pristine porcelain perfectly placed
With lingering finger a smile is traced
Classical glass consistently glistens
With cultured ear she only half-listens
Soft sibilances query assent
Arching eyebrow answers consent
Slinky silky dress arises to lead
Pleated khaki with beard stands to accede
Darkening dormer denotes delicatesse
Tonight total absence of any distress
Pristine porcelain perfectly placed
A lingering smile with finger is traced
The statuetted angel haloes lowly
The new winter morn dawns slowly
Singlet green shoot tests the air
Of refreshed romance remolding the pair
Bearded one has more to show
Silky smiles but hates to go
Promises passed and sealed the usual way
But their daughter awaits at Grannie May
Sparkling stars dusting the November heavens above;
A house full of family with bounteous amounts of Love.
Tops of moptops bent over for thanks and solemn prayer.
Dog respectful under table, he knows he’ll get a share.
Pumpkin, whipped crème, with cranberry sauce;
Give me that turkey and I’ll show you who’s boss.
Croissant cooling butterously over on the trivet;
Uncle clamoring for seconds…drumstick? Hey, give it!
I think it must be Thanksgiving, a Thursday nonpareil
And then Christmas is coming. We get presents—f’real!