I
miss
the
voice
that
teased
me,
About
my
love
of
this
season;
I
miss
the
gentle
digging,
About
my
decorations
and
my
reasons.
Tears
fill
my
eyes
Because
I
can't
hear
his
laugh;
Or
his
whole
hearted
approval
Of
gifts
that
I
might
craft.
He
thought
it
such
a
bother,
To
put
up
wreath
and
tree;
But
he
continued
to
do
so,
Because
it
filled
me
with
glee.
He
wasn't
a
romantic,
Practical
gifts
were
his
thing;
But
now
when
I
use
them,
My
heart
remembers
and
sings.
This
Christmas
will
be
hard,
Though
it's
filled
with
joy
and
cheer;
This
is
the
first
Christmas,
His
laugh
I
will
not
hear.
©Sandra
S.
Oidtman
2009
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