The Fireplace of Christmas Past
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 by Frank Shortt
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The old fireplace stands so forlorn
Dead coals and ashes lie about
The tabby cat no longer yawns
Thinking of past mice he had caught!
The old hearth broom, worn to the nubs,
Stood idly by where it was placed
Where grandma swept up all the mess
Produced by children as they played!
Her rocker sways not anymore
As she sewed, knitted, or crocheted,
Grandpa’s easy chair is empty
Whittling, watching as he lazed.
We used to think that Santa Claus
Came down that old blackened chimney
We wondered if his suit was soiled,
Next Noel it cleaned up mystically.
No longer snug, no longer swept,
It dreams of ghosts of Christmas past
The old fireplace sure misses all
It thought the warmth would always last.