Ghost of Christmas Past

It seems so many Christmases ago.
Almost through a white mist I see it.
Like the ones I remember as a boy
Sat now on the park bench where I found her.
The world bright in festive color and carols.
A warm firelight glows in the old cottage window.
Her French accent musical like sweet bells.
Such times are precious
we should know this.
Special and once lived memories forever.
It was so easy back then to accept
them as forever

a right of passage destiny perhaps.
The truth is the Gods
can give and take all they wish.
At times like this I can feel her
touching my cheek softly
Like a angels wing or like the snowflakes.
On the park a light dusting
of snow reflecting starlight this night,
on its purity of a mantle of whiteness.
I see her picture fixed in my mind.
She was so astoundingly lovely
closing my eyes I kiss  her
my lips on her cheek.
Whispering softly
joyous noel
ma petite fleur.