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By Michael Cook 12-26-20

I loved Christmas when I was a lad,

The stories of Santa – was I good or bad? The presents for me wrapped in shiny frill,

Were things to be opened with a great thrill. I liked the idea that I deserved a gift,

And the thought that I mattered, gave me a lift. This year was different from those days of before,

Our world was contagious, and we closed our door. Old folks were passed or told not to come.

There might not be another Christmas for some. The glitter and singing meant nothing this year,

With our family’s sweet voices not in our ear.

No tiny tots, nor daughters nor sons,

To see open their gifts from us older ones.

Just you and I are together this year,

So, I did a secret thing too quiet to hear.

I put a few bucks in an envelope plain,

And signed it from Santa to your sweet name.

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