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I come home in December, when

the snow lights the world around me.

Sun is the light, snow is the mirror.

Memories again take

my thoughts to childhood.

Secure, naive, happy.

Mom and Dad, friends, warmth of the fire.

Food, family, church, carols,

they defined Christmas then.

They define Christmas now.

December’s cold offset with

the warmth of the people I love.

Could this be the last one?

Might four score and ten be possible?

We don’t get to choose.

I’ll anticipate next December all year long.

Optimistic, realistic, pessimistic?

I couldn’t say.

Jack Blair

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