The children and their children have all left,
The last driveway goodbyes, hugs and I love yous
Preceding the honks of their cars,
Heading down to Route 9 and the Turnpike,
Heading east, from whence will soon come the Magi.
My wife and I, wise with our years, walk inside,
I fix the last eggnog, embellished, and she her tea;
I put on the new CD of Ma and Ax and Beethoven,
And we sink into our chairs by the still-fresh tree,
She on her I-Pad, while I open Barrie’s “A Way with Words,”
At least until we both nod off in a nap, where, no doubt,
Visions of those sweet ones will dance in our heads.
Merry Christmas!
Scott L. Barton
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