Catherine C. Heywood
A Drazen Christmas Tale
Updated: Feb 10, 2018
Originally published in December 2016.
‘Twas the night before Christmas at Sheila Drazen’s house,
Four generations had gathered, one girl getting soused.
Bing Crosby’s White Christmas battled a piano dirge in the air,
Because one cherished father would sadly not be there.
Monica complained, “It’s too flat, too slow.”
Gabby only shrugged. “I know, Mom. I know.”
When what to her wondering eyes should appear,
But a name and a number. A code? It wasn’t clear.
When she asked her mother, Monica evaded the matter.
So Gabby cornered her aunts just to have a little natter.
Innocent ears all snug in their beds,
Margie and Sheila said, “Why not? Go ahead.”
They told of a voice, a song, a girl;
A young man and his dreams of carving a new world;
Purple dress, yellow gloves, a deck of cards, and steady hands;
Of two people falling in love amidst lies and best-laid plans.
They spun such a tale of love and impolitic,
Of a man and a woman and a train and a trick.
A mystery so deep, two young people laid bare.
Could it be possible it ended on a prayer?
“What happened?” she cried with heavy heart and pleading eyes,
“After all of that love, one of them dies?”
Now here is where I must lay a finger aside my nose.
If I want you to read it, I must keep you on your toes.
But don’t you worry; there’s nothing to fear.
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