One would think a month that held
the wonder of a yuletide couldn’t qualify
as cruel in a duel between joy and grief.
It is my belief that December is just so.
A time of year held dear my most
(except for me and my siblings)
in spite of our quibbling, would hold
December and Christmas in disdain.
As such it will remain. My mother
nurturing and all-embracing and facing
a rash of maladies would suddenly fall
to the reapers scythe on Christmas Eve.
I believe that is a strong enough case for cruel.
Factor in another sick Yule a score later,
four days shy of her passing, our father
joined the ranks thanks to a cancerous liver.
Two givers of life, rife with much to celebrate
only to become late, great parents sorely missed.
December, twice kissed and dismissed,
the month I have truly come to despise.
A favored uncle and a father-in law
both would fall before we saw a New Year in.
Again the bell tolled for two more
to swell the roll. In all my life,
I don’t think I will remember
a more cruel month than December!
© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016
THROUGH THE EYES OF A POET'S HEART 