My Mitten-Covered Hand in my Dad’s


Come, Ghost of Christmas Past
Transport me to a little girl of six
Walking the streets of downtown St. Louis
Where bundled in my red coat
With white fur trim
My mitten-covered hand
Is held by my Dad’s.
Snow flurries dance
In gusts of wind
As we stand together
Before the Famous-Barr holiday windows.

Come, Ghost of Christmas Past
My memory is fleeting
In this now older mind.
Mom shops while Dad and I walk
To the line of eager children
Waiting for their turn on Santa’s lap.
Was this the year I told him
I wanted a Mrs. Beasley doll
and I got it?
Oh, “the shadows of things
that have been.”
Just let me feel
My mitten-covered hand
In my Dad’s once again.


Quoted text is from A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens.