If you are excited,
I couldn’t tell,
because you hide it well,
you hide it well,
and you stand there with the present in your hands,
and with barely a smile at all,
and I have worked long and hard to pay for it all,
and that feeling of your disappointment it washes over me,
and my stomach sinks a little into a temporary despair,
but that is Christmas and you cannot always get it right,
and there are more presents of which I am sure will delight,
and soon you will be smiling again,
and things will be alright,
but in the moment,
it is easy to despair when in your eyes there is no real delight,
and I momentarily feel a failure,
but I quickly put it to one side,
another present I say,
and your smile soon returns,
and my child is happy again,
and Father Christmas is once again your friend as am I,
and your smile as you open the new present,
it is a mile wide,
and how happy you are this time,
and jumping up and down in excitement,
and what a delight it is to see again such happinness in your eyes,
oh, the Russian roulette of Christmas,
and the happinness and the sadness,
and the tears,
Christmas,
a time for joy,
and a time sometimes, for momentary fear.

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