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Arriving

The day may be for children

but made, we know, by the old folks

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who come with baskets

full of raisin-filled cookies,

cranberry bread, tart

hard candies, everything wrapped

in tissue or foil, fresh

holly attached with tape.

We wait, as children, for them,

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for their arriving, these grandparents

whose memories of a hundred holidays

bless us doorkeepers

at the many houses of their one home.


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