K for 'Kris Kringle & the miracle of Christmas'

I remember that childhood so long ago

When Christmas meant to me

More than just a public holiday,

When red stockings hung over the fireplace,

And couples kissed under mistletoes,

When trees were decked with handmade ornaments,

And faces gleamed with sublime smiles,

When the fragrance of baked cookies wafted in cozy kitchens,

And melting moments congealed into flavored memories;

Rose, cinnamon and caramel chocolate...

Yuletide bakes and a glass of milk

We'd keep aside for Santa Claus

Hoping to tempt him into staying longer

And score brownie points with him.

He needed the energy, we coveted the gifts,

'Twas going to be a long night

As sleepy children all over awaited him

The big fat guy with the snowy beard;

The one who laughed 'Ho Ho Ho'

And traveled all the way from the North Pole

On his reindeer sleigh

To celebrate the spirit of Christmas,

Just like us excited souls

Nibbling off the choco-chip cookies

Bit by bit

With a guilt free conscience;

'Santa could do with a diet'

I remember that childhood so long ago,

We'd meet the gingerbread man in books and dreams,

And greet Frosty and Rudolph in carols sung tone deaf.

When Mum would tuck us warm in bed,

But instead we'd stay awake and write letters

Praying for a surprise of our choice

We'd write to Father Christmas.

A sleepless night spent counting stars,

We'd hardly realize when we'd drop off to sleep.

Morning come and we'd rush to search

For presents from Father Christmas.

One in the stocking near the fireplace,

Another under the decked up tree,

The best one we'd always find last,

Besides the pillow on our ruffled beds.

Just like life,

Where surprises lie unnoticed,

Often in the most obvious places.

Wrapped in bright pink paper and satin ribbons,

We'd indulge the present and save the wrap

In the museum of our innocence

Like the glass of milk that Santa had forgotten to empty,

In fear that we might wake up,

Sowing a temporary doubt in our silly heads.

Perhaps Santa was lactose intolerant too,

Just like Daddy.

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K for 'Kris Kringle & the miracle of Christmas' is the eleventh post in the 'A-Z Series' of posts, a chain of write-up's by me on topics starting with each alphabet of the English language. Read back and forth for the other posts, and please feel free to contribute your thoughts on the subject.