At the mall the other day
I stopped to drop a donation
into the red bucket;
a tradition, something
we always did for our fathers,
two WWII veterans who spoke
of the kindnesses rendered
by this “army of salvation.”
I gave more than usual
then tried to explain that this year
I was donating for you, too,
but I couldn’t find my voice.
In routine there is peace,
joy found in small moments:
a visit with family,
time spent with friends,
in memories shared
and in traditions…
each thread woven with love.
If a tear should appear, it is not from sadness,
but from the place where the heart remembers.
It is Christmas, after all.
© Ginny Brannan 2021
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Thank you for reading my poetry and sharing your thoughts.