from the poetry book ‘Images of Life’
I wrote this poem just for fun to imagine a young boy without sight whose dreams come true in his imagination and that being without sight doesn’t mean you can’t experience the joy of Christmas day.
Pitter Patter Putt A Poem by E.T. Milligan
A Christmas poem by E.T. Milligan
there once was a joyful time,
when gifts for kids were considered the best of things.
but for a little boy named Joey,
a Christmas gift brought a whole new meaning,
with the heavenly surprise,
for him it would bring.
joey awakened and emitted a grin.
it was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop.
he listened for the ticks of the ornate clock
with the short stick on four and the long on twelve,
it didn’t matter to Joey what time it said.
he opened his eyes widely and leaped out of bed.
sniffing from a cold, he felt for his slippers,
then eased his way ‘cross the bedroom floor.
balancing himself on the stairway rail,
he tiptoed down, to squeaks and creaks,
‘till he felt a chilling draft
beneath the home entrance door.
despite his evident lack of sleep,
little Joey felt as fresh as a morning daisy.
he paused and scoffed, while deep in thought.
“why haven’t they gotten up?
“i shouldn’t be down here alone.
why is my family so terribly lazy?
as he trudged from the foyer to the family room,
he heard a noise through the pitch-black space.
it was low whistling majestic horn,
sounding so much like a small engine train.
so he shuffled his feet to next to the tree
and with an air of confidence, like he owned the place.
suddenly, a little red train appeared,
“hi there, little boy!” the little train said.
Joey's world suddenly went from dark to light.
for the very first time, he could actually see.
as the train inched towards him, and stared at his eyes,
joey nearly fainted from his obvious fright.
the train’s eyes lit up like a raging bonfire.
smoke rose to ceiling like dispensed from a funnel.
it tipped its nose and snorted out steam,
then stared with delight at the now confused boy.
It uttered the words, “I’m as real as real can be,
and I here to bring you some long lost joy.”
then Joey noticed something quite strange,
a part was missing from the trains wheel well.
it was broken at the front, quite loose and not tight.
joey wondered wjy a Christmas gift was a defective toy.
then surrounding his mind, came a revealing thought,
this train is a real, as a boy without sight.
then an ear-piercing scream rang out.
“Joseph Ray O’Connor, why are you awake?
come back up to bed,” his mom bluntly shouted.
with an awful migraine, this unexplained noise,
at four in the morning, didn't come to pleasing,
and was all she could take.
“mommy, I can’t believe it,” he uttered back.
“who on Earth bought me this wonderful train?”
but as Joey turned and glanced around,
his world returned back to a complete pitch black.
as it had been for his ten years before,
the little red train, now seemed only a dream.
a merry Christmas greeting
sneaked through two bellowing yawns,
elongated stretches, and muted frowns.
that type of reception that would scare away witches.
but Joey was barely phased by it all,
It was Christmas morning, with his family all around.
“Joseph says he saw a train,” mommy announced.
so saddened to hear of Joey’s wishful thinking.
dad and sis stayed quiet, as they fought back a tears.
how could they remind him, on this Christmas day,
that what he wished for, could never be.
they felt bad for a loved one they cherished so dear.
throughout the day, when mom, and dad, and sis were away,
Joey continually circled about the imaginary track.
he could hear the calming, majestic sounds
of a little red engine, that brought him such luck.
on this Christmas day, it pulled a caboose
and emitted a noise from front to back
pitter, patter....putt...putt...putt!!
Copyright © Edward T. Milligan, 2005
All rights reserved.
If you enjoyed Down Memory Lane, I invite you to explore another heartfelt piece: The Difference. This brief yet profound poem delves into self-belief and the power of mindset—what truly sets us apart is not our abilities but the belief in our potential.
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