Put up the Christmas tree last night
that six foot hideous plastic thing
you said you liked, this time last year
would have got a new one, but out of respect
I saw it fit for pride of place in the left hand corner of the living room
next to the window by the fire, overlooking the snow outside
I thank God above you didn't have to drive in it
to work this year, or last for that matter
it could have been so much worse
a devastating phone call hits far harder
when it's not expected.
Your presents remain here to this day
hadn't the heart to give them away
still wrapped, with ribbons, matching gift tags
took them out of the plastic bag this morning
and my eyes filled up, I suppose I'd forgotten just how much
it hurts me still, to think you're gone
never coming back, by fate's cruel hand
there's a draught in this house sometimes
and when the heating's up I still feel it
I guess the pain doesn't ever stop
you just become accustomed to the sting.
I don't like to sit and weigh things up -
you always told me off for doing that too much
you'd disapprove of these words I write
having always sought the simple life.
In the simplest words, I miss you like hell
I'd give my right arm to have you back again
but it's a request too far for even a prayer
gone by no means, means forgotten
Christmas turned rotten the minute you died
and the ghost of your presence among the presents
does little to lift my spirits.