Victorian Christmas Poem by Michael Cochrane

When I think on Christmas eve 1895, my memory recalls your leave. I watch our child sleeping, an angel at rest. You always told him, mother knows best. No more golden days of joys, only your empty chair filled with tomorrows toys. I sit sadly and shed a tear, dear departed wife for you alone were my whole life. You died a year ago like a withered tree. Heavy is my breast now thinking of thee. I know im not alone you see, looking at winters snow through frosted glass my heart does glow, as i remember my one true lass, the times we shared in the past, that sadly did not last.
Michael Cochrane ©