The Christmas lights sit untouched in box for eleven months before we even care to notice that they are there.
But they don’t mind.
They don’t care that they are rejected even though they are so beautiful.
The lights sit in a box for months, rejected.
I can’t imagine trying to be a single string of Christmas lights.
Like a pack of hungry wolves.
Like a family too poor, but still happy.
My family is like Christmas lights.
We shine when we are together, and disable when we are apart.
And when the season is right, we shine.
We come out of our box, and we light up the streets with cheer.
We are Christmas lights waiting to shine.
To poor to make apple pie, but cheap enough to buy it.
Now we are too dull to shine, until the sky hits night.
And then the moon is right, and snow falls from the sky.
Its Christmas time, and now, we shine, like the lights.
White, green and red.
Happiness in three colors, in three smiles.
Like the lights.