Flickering Bulbs

Lying prostrate on the cold wooden floor,
small heads tucked beneath the Christmas tree.
The dark room lit only by brightly colored lights
strung meticulously through pine scented branches.
Hours whiled away on our backs, peering up into
heavily decorated branches.

Smiles light our small faces as flickering bulbs glow
in the branches, reflected by shining ornaments.
Small eyes, squinted just so, create a kaliedescope
of blurred color.
Rapturous sighs erupt over this newly rediscovered pleasure.
Sequential flashes of light eventually lull small bodies into
slumber, soon to be discovered by Santa.

Poem copyright protected, and the property of Victoria Feathers, and not to be used without permission.x mas (23)



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