The Empty Sock

The navy blue sock hung lifelessly
Upon my parched palm
And soaked in the copious tears,
Silently running down my eyes.
Poor little sock, it’s not his fault.

Indeed, what a fool I was.
Santa Claus doesn’t exist.
Not that I ever believed in it,
And I laughed at those who ardently
Made their Christmas wish list.

Last night, when I saw my little brother
Put an empty sock at the door handle,
I smiled and said, ‘Santa Claus is just fable.
The empty sock will remain empty.’
‘Santa will fill it with goodies, I know.’ he whispered.

Kids were so naive and eager, I thought.
As I laid still on my bed,
His whisper kept echoing in my mind
My heart suddenly missed a beat.
What if Santa Claus did exist?

The first light of the day
Had hardly flitted through the curtains
Before I ran to the front door
And yanked it open
Only to find an empty sock.

Oh, why did I even hope?
For it would have been a miracle,
Had the sock been filled.
Miracles, I know, only exist in dreams
And so does Santa Claus.

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