it’s beginning to look a lot like christmas.

You won’t be here in the morning when I wake, but something tells me you’ll hear the sleigh bells ringing.

I’m dreaming of a White Christmas, one where angels from your place will show me you’re there.

We’ll gather at the table, where your photo now sits, talking of the many Christmas’s where you were what made us smile.

Perhaps one day I’ll understand why life had to be so cruel to you, perhaps Santa will leave you under my tree.

You won’t be here when I close my eyes to end the night, but something tells me you’ll let the angels sing.

To my dearest Pappy, who tomorrow I’ll be without, Merry Christmas. Thinking of you, as I always am. 

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