Fabrice Poussin
Dreams are strange for the young boy
when time seems to move at leisure
upon another Christmas in the land.
It will be warm in the stranger’s house
so tall with the wisdom of ages
at the end of a day almost too cruel.
But he awaits with open arms
with the kin he gently nurtures
for it is the grandest day yet.
There will be a meal of hours
laughter, smiles, endless embraces
a game of cards open to all.
Decades have melted into the ground
souls gone and new ones come
leaving just a taste of time behind.
The girl has labored with child’s care
to mix the saintly nectars of this precious hour
made magic for all eyes to feast.
Wooden log for the hearth
now a grandiose desert for the wealthy
an eternal world in chocolate grooves