Home for Christmas

It came in a box
wrapped in death,
tied with a ribbon,
and sealed with a breath.

It came in a letter
as it came with the snow,
bearing no return address,
and no thanks to owe.

It came from the doctor’s lips
with a solemn tone,
of news of tragic health
as he should have known.

It came for Christmas
hiding beneath the tree,
waiting to be opened,
waiting to be set free.

It came with tumours,
returning amidst the brain,
after all of the fighting
the cancer took its reign.

He left in a box
of fine furnished wood,
lowered into a grave
as the family knew he would.