by Winnie Kay
The magic of Christmas comes to a father and son. [Ballad]
“Will Santa come?” he asked his dad.
“The fire truck must be red!”
Jack held his boy. His eyes were sad.
“We’ll see, my son,” he said.
The rent was due. The heater died.
Jack knew there’d be no toys.
Some food was all he could provide.
His prayer became his boy’s.
That night, Jack asked with all his might
That God would grant his plea:
A bit of joy, a small delight
To set beneath the tree.
The morning broke with squeals and cheers,
And Jack jumped from his bed.
Clutched in small hands, Jack saw, through tears,
A fire truck, bright and red.
[Alternating lines of Iambic Tetrameter and Trimeter]
~~My dad and older brother in 1949~~