Christmas will be lonely without Tina my wife
For she died in hospital, and she was my life.
She seemed for all to start to recover
But died suddenly without warning
A life alone I was about to discover.
It will be lonely this Christmas, lonely and cold
She died so young never to grow old.
I now watch others prepare for Christmas joys
Out to the shops stocking up with food.
Or out buying perfume, jumpers and toys.
What the future holds nobody knows
My love for her only grows and grows.
I think of her both night and day
And when I take her dog for a walk
For in my heart she will always stay.
I spend my time at the foot of her grave
Thinking of the love to me that she gave.
Of soft the times we went out for a walk,
An afternoon drive in the countryside,
Or sat in a café over coffee where we would talk.
But Christmas will come and Christmas will go
And Christmas joy to others I must still show.
For Christmas is about a new born child
Brought into this world so meek and so mild
To bring about healing for people like me
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Comments about this poem (Christmas Alone by David Wood )
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
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Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
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