At The Stroke Of Twelve (Poetry)

AT THE STROKE OF TWELVE

The glow from the fire
less than a glimmer
the lights on the tree
a soft gold shimmer
deep shadows moved round

I sat there alone
the kids tucked in bed
while bright buzzing thoughts
kept sleep from my head
I watched the ash fall

The room very still
the tree stood so tall
the moment held me
in some magic thrall
the clock then struck twelve

I might have dropped off
succumbed to a doze
I can’t say for sure
yet part of me knows
and stayed wide awake

When through the door crept
a figure in red
walking right past me
and smiling he said
A Merry Christmas!