Cautiously, creeping down the stairs,
carefully avoiding the creaks,
and take each other’s hand.
At the bottom we tiptoe,
towards the door.
Almost afraid to breathe
we slowly, gently, push it open.
Beneath the twinkling lights
sit the gifts.
‘He’s been,’ we whisper
(Published 2014 by Celapene Press, Short and Twisted and Thynks Publications Bards at Blidworth and Beyond Anthology)
- Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #49