“You may need these, yet.”
Whispered in my ear with a lilt of humor,
with a hint of a smile,
with a knowing withheld.
They were thrice as heavy
when I laid them on the table,
when I laid them on your name,
when I said my last goodbye.
Now they jingle in my pocket
with the sound of clacking teeth,
with the sound of dancing steps,
with the sound of swinging doors.
The doors open to a bone cold night,
but I am filled with warmth,
and I am filled with cheer,
and fear is far from me.
For mischief never left my world.
There is still a place for laughter.
I will greet the chuckling shadows,
and serve humor at the feast.