"A Christmas Joe"
Written by Michael Bovill 2004

The night of December 1 he will begin.
Unpacking his decorations, on his face is a grin.

Up on the mantle he places his Sleigh.
On the table his elves will stay.

The Christmas tree explodes with ornaments and tinsel
The train underneath sounds the whistle.

The window's adorned with lights green and white,
Bringing the sense it will soon be Christmas night.

"We must write a letter," he gasps, and without pause.
He grabs pen and paper and prints "Dear Santa Claus."

The joy in dad's eyes is something I can't stand,
but I must play along with his little plan.

I wish in my heart there was someway he would see
that writing to Santa Claus isn't for me,

He sits in his big chair with a book we all know,
and tells us to settle in, he's all set to go.

We all know what's coming a story from Christmas,
and we all know we must stay the distance.

This is an story written so long ago,
by his dad who's nick-name was Joe.

He pulls out the book so old and so worn,
that was found in the attic—all ripped and torn

He begins the tale of this man with a big round belly,
that shook when he walked like a big bowl of jelly.

As the story went on his eyes filled with tears,
as he remembered his dad from earlier years.

His dad passed just two years ago,
so he reads this story every Christmas for Joe.

I am all grown now with kids of my own,
and have a memory of Dad who is now gone.

I hope you are proud of me as I take from you,
your kind, happy heart that was never blue.

I'll promise to keep your Joe's story live and free,
and teach my children what you taught me.