Morning never comes on Christmas Day! Eons pass and still the sun won't rise! Running late, the parents check closed eyes, Retrieving gifts they long had hid away. Years pass too quickly; loves and friendships stray. Christmas comes and goes; the magic dies. Happiness is hard and elsewhere lies. Reality erodes one's sense of play. Innocence remains a memory, Sustaining hope and faith in later years, The gift of what the child once believed. Morning comes, of course, eventually, As dreams give way to deep and unshed tears, Still waiting for a glory long since grieved.