I have one hundred

Santa Claus figurines but

only one Christmas.

I reuse ribbons.

I am tied up in my own

unfollowed advice.

I buy cards on sale

but never write or mail them.

No more, till I sign.

The Warldorf buffet

Santa, carved from ice, begins

to melt on the shrimp.

Not in a manger

but in a closed art store lot

on route 17.

Voices on T.V.

in the holiday specials

draw song from my heart.

Friends may pass away.

Children leave for their own lives.

Each new birth gives hope.

Holiday spirit:

Ephemeral in the snow,

Tacit in the mind.