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.