• I sit on the steps,
    The concrete so hard,
    the cold is so bitter,
    like a stray dog
    nipping at your ankles.
    Streets away sits the
    old clock tower,
    lit bright, looking grand,
    in the town's square surrounded
    by brightness that fills the sky,
    as the beautiful people
    dance and sing merrily.
    But my street isn't lit,
    and no parties await for us.
    its Christmas Eve,
    but Papa says not to expect
    much of anything.
    How are we, when mother is sick,
    and Papa has lost his job at the factory?
    Christmas isn't Wishmas anymore.
    No turkey or ham dinners for me,
    I just hope tonight the house will be heated,
    So I can feel snuggly warm.
    I'm afraid to go back to school,
    all the children
    with their new clothes, coats, and fancy toys.
    Papa says Santa only visits the rich kids now.
    But, Why? Eight years of my life,
    and now everything changes.
    Christmas just isn't Wishmas anymore.