Polka dot trees
They're supposed to be cedars
A collage for my mother
For Christmas Day.

Asleep on the sofa
You wait for me
Quietly breathing
You give yourself away.

I could be painting
But it's four in the morning
The day that awaits me
Is silently dawning.

We'll drive to my parents
I finish this there
Sleep is impatient
In its persistent glare.

Goodnight to the bakers
Goodnight to the bells
Goodnight to the sleepers
In their comfortable cells.