Real Gifts – A Poem

How typical of us

That we try and over-stuff christmas

So we can try and extract

The maximum mythical happiness


Around a festival

That at its end


On a man’s death


When I die

I want to see a smile

As friends hold the joy

Of my being ever alive


When I die

I hope somebody cries

I hope I at least touched

One life that much


We must not strive

Only for smiles

But accept that real gifts

Bring both joy and sadness


A sadness that makes us weep

And in so doing cleanses eyes

Saves us from living asleep

In grinning half-lives


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the inside, and outside, of my head

Gabriela LeBarón

Stories Poetry Art Opinion

Poetry on the run

a poet's search for poetry


Writers write. The rest make excuses.

Ramblings From A Mum

This is my journey, my thoughts, my views, plain and simple and from my heart. Please travel with me and share, hopefully it will be an interesting trip.

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