You walk at night outside the lit up houses,
imagining the warmth they have within,
a warmth of love, of children and of spouses,
sheltered from the snow you watch begin.
You recollect the life you had, like theirs,
in days when happiness was overflowing,
and watch your step on icy flights of stairs
and shield your face from cold and snow that’s blowing.
But you are glad it isn’t them but you
who face the elements out on the street
and hope a home and joy like you once knew
are somewhere up ahead, past ice and sleet.
Though you now have no place to lay your head,
may a mansion be someday your home instead.

Blue Christmas

Mario A. Pita

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