I miss her still today.
When I think of her this time of year,
The smell of fresh-baked bread;
Of apple pies and cookies;
An overdose of colour on the tree;
Mario, Bing, and Elvis sing carols on LP;
Soft and buttery shortbread,
Rolling out and cutting;
Stockings pinned along the couch for we had no fireplace
Filled with oranges, candies, toys, and chocolate,
A tiny house filled up with love;
Eight children crowding ‘round the tree,
Then turkey, mashed potatoes, and homemade apple pie.
We never had much money,
But Mom made Christmas special;
She showed me why she loved this time of year.
And, though I miss her sharply
And wish that she was here,
I am deeply grateful
For every memory.