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Six stockings were hung with such great care A large family, it appeared, would celebrate here A husband and wife share a loving embrace While the children rip paper, at a break-neck pace In the fireplace, crackling, and a warm red glow Outside, with a vengeance, cold winds did blow In the corner, a tree, with lights abound Filling the room, familiar choruses and holiday sounds The windows, all covered, with an icy frost Inside, the significance of the day wasn't lost The father did spin an intriguing yarn About a baby, named Jesus, being born in a barn The children listened as he spoke of a star That called folks to visit from near and far It was no ordinary baby that was born on this day It was the son of God, he went on to say An old man sitting in a rocking chair No one around, not a soul to care He stares across the room at a plastic tree Wishing again for his mind to run free He knew not from where these strange thoughts came He knew only that a disease, called Alzheimer's, was to blame This wonderful memory, he knew wouldn't last A memory, he assumed, of a Christmas past
Donald J. Donofrio III copyright 1997
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