The final surge of innocence floods
A Catalan January night.
Candy is caught in prams and hoods
Sticky soles kick and fight.
The town walks home, on cloud nine
With dreams of gifts and fads;
My daughter’s hand slips from mine
- her friends are not with dads.
She'll pour a Scotch and cut some cake
To keep the camels warm,
As every year the routine rolls,
Except the smile that says she knows
The last Magi forsook his star.
Adéu, forever, to Balthazar.
Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 6:38 AM UTC