What gifts will you bring your Papa?
Pure gold, however they're made
Wrapped in sunshine smiles;
Tied with love that won't fade.
What gift will you bring your lover?
Its rich, whatever you've spent,
You've paid thrice in sweat and tears
and my promises, broken or bent.
What gifts can I bring my daughters?
What present is worthy my wife?
Tawdry trinkets diamonds would seem
On these precious true-treasures of life.
Corny but sincere sentiments, still, from this ol' fool, as he prepares for a Lillian-less Yuletide.
(Some other poetry of mine can be accessed via the Wayback Machine.)