So Christmas is over for another year,
with a melancholy sigh, Santa sheds a tear,
cold and alone in his winter house
no creature will stir, not even a mouse
seeks the warmth of a flickering flame
in lowly silence, it’s always the same,
the incumbent darkness behind his back
the sepia shape of his empty sack
his crimson hat now hangs from the door,
the coat of fur slung on the floor
a furrowed brow is all that is cast
as he sits and remembers Christmases past.