something tells me there's a tradition,
to have someone i love leave at the 27th of December.
a holiday gift Santa had written on his list,
i hope he's gone older and forget.
it's a fear i carry, a festivity on his grip
he can be mean at times, he can be.
the star on the tree sends a smirk,
pulling a frown on my pretty cheeks.
the sound of the bells are cheering,
on me or the proceeding of the list.
there's something about 27,
i can't unwrap it well.
i hope Santa doesn't have a tell.