by Stacey Torres

Created on: November 26, 2010

He sits at his small table

As the morning Christmas sun

Burns through the foggy window and the faded curtains

Of Dotted Swiss

She made with her own nimble fingers

So many winters ago.

The mug of dark, bitter coffee still warms his old,

Gnarled fingers as he holds it quietly in front of him

Hoping the steam from within will warm his aching heart

And bring peace and joy back to the pale yellow kitchen

They shared for over 60 years together in love

In war, in peace, in pain ...

Where one child was born right on that very table

And one was lost on another Christmas morning such as this,

But cold, unexpected, but still beautiful and sunny, he was.

Tears spill from the old man's eyes as he gazes through the

Dotted Swiss to the twisted Hawthorne tree that looks just like

His tired, withered body ...

And, then ...

And, then ...

He sees her, perched primly on a low branch, glowing and

Elegant as any gift from God could be.

The lady Cardinal, so sweet and glowing ...

He waves timidly, and he could swear he sees her wink -

That same old knowing wink that tells him

"Get up old, fool!

"Stop your whining and crying!

"Its Christmas, for God's sakes!"

And he smiles to himself as this is his first Christmas

Without her

But, there she is, all rosy and pure, chest stuck out

With pride and love, he whispers - and she winks,

Merry Christmas, my love.

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