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Christmas day is over.
Our metaphor of life and renewal
winds down,
A victim of the very thing it stands in place of.
How
strange that there were no presents for you
Or from you.
It was you who
created our traditions,
From pieces gathered from here and there
Then
brought together as you brought our family together.
We remembered the
effect you had on some people,
How they were drawn to your vitality
Or
some other quality we didn't see
Because we took it for granted. Or
couldn't live with it.
Now that your are gone it leaves an emptiness
we
can't identify.
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