The day may be for children

but made, we know, by the old folks

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,

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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