Empty chair by the Christmas table.
Thousands of glittering flames
Dance on colorful ornaments.
The whole world trembles, it slowly rocks.
Green spruce smells like the woods.
Like Ariadne, I weave
Angel hair into memories and silence.
I return to happy hours,
To events that are now but dreams.
I listen to every murmur, rustle.
It seems, that at last I will hear
Familiar footsteps on the other side of the door