The Man In The Red Coat (Poetry)

Am I too old to believe in Father Christmas —
too cynical to hope he may be real?
Can fantasy survive the age of knowing
how times have changed? I’m wishing I could feel

like a child — that sense of expectation
growing as the magic day draws near.
The dizzy and delicious sheer excitement
that once glowed inside, artless and sincere.

I want to stand beneath the tree and listen
for sleighbells or imagine I can hear
hoofbeats or a rustle in the chimney —
some sound that, for one moment, echoes clear

and tells me that it’s possible. Believing
will make it real — so every child is told.
The man in the red coat is out there somewhere
for all of us — however young or old.