Dreaming Of Christmas (Poetry)

This is the night of all nights in the year —
the house is rocked by snores, ’though none will hear
except one visitor who, treading light,
ascends the staircase, robed in red and white.

So faint, the moonbeams trickle through cold glass —
pick out a figure — slanting shadows pass —
a cloud of breath dispersing haunts a dream —
a bell somewhere is chiming, sharp and clean

it cuts the silence — Hark! — the tapping hooves
on frosted tiles prance dainty on the rooves
while the festive spirit spreads its peace around,
small cradled children slumber — safe and sound...

while gifts appear beneath the tinselled tree
and fill the empty stockings magically —
as though some wishful vision summoned there
has done a dreamer’s bidding — unaware

they are a figment — conjured with the sound
traditional in story — words spin round
and weave such pictures — deep inside we feel
for one night only, Santa Claus is real.