Cold nights and chill days bring people back home, towards the end of the year,
With fires ablaze and eggnog filled dazes, everyone seems filled with tons of good cheer.
Even for Franklin, a former American knight,
who lived in a box, just tucked out of sight.
His fireplace empty and no stocking to hang, Franklin kept hoping, hoping for change.
Not in pennies or dimes, or the shinny quarters either, rather the new life of which Obama’s voice rang.
Where are Franks riches and gold?
Not a cask full of rubies, but a bed and a home.
For Frank it was hard to listen to reason
With all of his senses robbed by the season,
To the cries of the needy even with nothing besides his own thinking.
At last the passing of strangers began to dwindle and wain
and Franklin could search for the glimmer of hope (when he might eat again)
A long night of searching and nothing was gained,
except for some frostbite from icy sheets of rain.
And still Franklin was hopeful, fire burning within
that tonight would be different, tonight he’d get in.
A home for the weary a home for the poor,
a place to take refuge with a lock on the front door.
Rooms were cramped and the tenants a bit smelly, but Franklin was warm,
even had food to occupy his belly.
At last laying down, Franklin looked round at all of the blessings
around to be found.
Thanks to the builder, who put of these walls,
without which Franklin might not be here at all.
Thanks to the neighbor, sharing his blanket,
in the morning, Franklin would thank him.
Yet something was missing, just not right,
it had to be Santa, where was he tonight?
And then with a tap, not quit a clatter,
the lights when off and it no longer mattered.
Santa was fake, why hope for a miracle
Franklin took his rest, the little he could for Frank was still cynical.
Then in the morning, packed up and ready,
Franklin moved on with his feet just a little more steady.
The rain turned to ice that one Christmas night,
then from there snow came and covered all life.
Returning to his box, Franklin stood just out of sight, awaiting the time to scrumidge,
for one last X-mas delight.
Run down and weary Franklin stopped to breath heavy and noticed his box, stuck in a bevy,
Surrounded by snow flakes, but STILL, not too many.
With a huff of resentment Frank took up his covering as the wind started howling and admired the gusts,
The glitter of snow mimicked fire light thus,
and then Franklin saw him Red coat and all,
He swore it was Santa who caused the snow fall.
Still laying exposed, all chilled to his bones
Franklin saw diamonds that tickled his noes.
Eyes barely open, mind very drowsy, still knew something was a matter.
Excepting his station, his last port of call, Franklin now answered Winters ill call.
He passed through his box and bevy of snow,
Fully ascending to that place heroes go,
Finally warm and finally free,
Franklin looked upon the world and only diamonds did he see.