I count my blessings weekly

It’s christmas, and I don’t like mince pies.
My toes are numb, and I turn off each light
on my way to the tree just to watch it shine,
glittering madness, only just less than bright.
Hand cut snowflakes, hands working to make
something more than physical, to last a while.
More impatient than Eve to see her presents unveiled,
I am itching to see her face stretch with a smile.
My girl, heavy with curls, I love you deeply,
with all that I am, truly, completely.

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