a fitting end to our reign atop the hill,
my head still rings as though with carols of jingling bells,
sung full throated and low baritone no more words this morning after, alive inside this body of mine sore from excessive living,
living it up, up top- no more castles in the sky
but always a space a home where friends- no,
family- can sing and dance and play into the wee hours of the morning, not a one here that isn’t more themselves here,
gathered ourselves near, to us, dear to us- once more.
So we’ll raise a glass every year
on this day a superlative memory
when all cried the name of “Pat Jackman!”
and demanded a speech
and looked on with full tears from cheers
eyed wide and knowing smiles spread round the room
like running fires
boogied in this love shack of ours.
A pot luck style walks good natured-ly among us
“for when they seldom come they wished for come”
and this day- all the more seldom- all the more wished.
All the year my favorite day, a single night wrapped up tight
with pretty bows of friendship,
hidden under my Christmas tree are those that know of my one day joy, ornamented boughs with love great arms to hug and hold keep us warm a single star tops it off throughout the year to light our way home.