From the Collection Story Poems by Abigayle

 

 

I wrote this poem when I was in high school.  Today it is a big favorite with the high school crowd.  I really enjoying "playing this character" when I act it out at my performances.

   

 Who Dares to Brave the Storm

  (Abigayle, 1968)

 

                                It=s Christmas Eve in Charlottsville,

                                a mid-west mining town.

                                The year is 1941...

                                depression=s all around.

 

                                A storm just passed and left its mark.

                                The snowbound streets are bare.

                                The wind howls songs of cold and pain...

                                and darkness fills the air.

 

                                The townsfolk rest in warmth and peace;

                                no dreams of pain or strife.

                                The doors are locked - the curtains drawn,

                                 the streets are void of life.

 

                                But wait - what=s this? A shadow moves...

                                one small and lonely form.

                               What man would challenge nature=s claim?

                                Who dares to brave the storm?

 

                                He has no hat, no gloves, no boots....

                                His coat is much to light.

                                He=s just a babe -  a man of ten;

                                one child against the night!

 

                                What purpose brings a boy so small

                                 to the toy store window display?

                                He shouldn=t be out on a night like this...

                                but at home where it=s warm and safe.

 

                                  It=s Christmas Eve, a time of joy,

                                and yet his smiles are few.

                                 But wait, he speaks...let=s listen in.

                                He may give us a clue.

 

                        "Oh boy, a gun!  It's real I bet.

                                                         And there=s a holster too!

                                                                  And bikes and trains...and teddy bears...

                                                         and all brand spankin= new!"

 

                                 "I wish I had a toy like those.

                                                          I had one once, I think.

                                                                   But that was fore= my mommy died...

                                                         and daddy didn=t drink."

 

                                 "She used to tuck me in at night,

                                                         and hear me say my prayers.

                                                                  And daddy used to smile a lot...

                                                         but now he sits and stares." 

 

                                 "It sure is cold....my feet are froze!

                                                         I'd better stop and rest.

                                                                  I wonder if my daddy=s home?

                                                        Naw...he won=t be there yet."

 

                                "Sometimes he stays away all night

                                                        and comes home really sad.

                                                                  But when he comes home early...

                                                        Wow, he comes home really mad!"

 

                                 "Oh, I don=t mind when he gets drunk.

                                                         At least I=m not alone.

                                                                   I think I hate that most of all.

                                                         I wish he=d stay at home."

 

                                "I used to have a friend or two,

                                                        but they were scared a= dad.

                                                                 So no one comes to play no more

                                                       cuz they all say he=s bad."

 

                                "Their parents think he's just a drunk..

                                                        and make um stay away.

                                                                  I get so tired a= being alone.

                                                        I wish they=d let um play."

 

                                "But they don=t know what=s wrong with him.

                                                        Nope - they just think he=s bad.

                                                                 But I know why he drinks so much...

                                                        It=s really cuz he=s sad."

 

                                "He loved my mom - fore= she got sick.

                                                       But then the angels came

                                                                 and took my mom to live with God,

                                                       and he=s just not the same."

 

                                   "I wonder if there really is

                                                       a Santa Claus at all.

                                                                He used to bring me toys and things,

                                                       but that=s when I was small."

 

                                "Even if there=s no such thing,

                                                       I think I=ll just pretend.

                                                                And I know what I=ll ask him for;

                                                      I'll ask him for a FRIEND."

 

                                "Oh, I don=t care what kind a= friend;

                                                        just so he likes me too.

                                                                 And I won=t have to be alone

                                                       no matter what I do."

 

                                "But friends are purty= hard to find.

                                                       You don=t see them for sale.

                                                                 Even Santa can=t help me...

                                                       He=s just a fairy tale!"

 

                                                                 He trudges on and finds a bench;

                                                                his respite from the storm.

                                                                  His eyes closed tight - he drifts to sleep,

                                                                and suddenly he=s warm.

 

                                                                 For death by cold comes swift and sly...

                                                                disguised as warmth and peace.

                                                                 A sleeping child who=ll wake no more.

                                                                His gift on Christmas Eve.