Her name was Holiday.
She smelled of pine,
and her eyes,
Glistened like the snow and ice
That blankets the lanes
keeping the families stuck inside.
Her voice was angel,
And she sang songs that only
Angels could hear.
She told stories that only taught
Families what it really meant to be a
Family,
And what it really meant to give and
Be grateful.
Her hands were soft.
Her stature, so much grace.
She had a way with warming up
The cold
Like mittens you give to children
Or at least that’s what we’re told
In the fairy tales
that we will tell
Our children before bed
On those December nights
When the cold freezes over the windows,
But the wood stove is
Still roasting.