The Crinkle of Christmas

In grandma's china dish, a jewel-toned gleam,

Christmas gumdrops, a childhood, sugared dream.

Reds like firetrucks, a siren's sweet call,

Greens of bottlebrush trees, standing tall.

Whites as frosted windows, a peek at the night,

Oranges, sunshine trapped, a warm, citrusy light.

Each bite, a tiny story, a tastebud's delight,

A symphony of flavors, chasing away winter's bite.

Sticky fingers, a badge of sugary war,

Sneaking gumdrops, one by one, at the store.

Impatient hearts counting down the days,

Till twinkling lights and carols filled our daze.

The crinkle of the cellophane, a whispered secret,

A promise of Christmas, a sugary banquet.

Each drop, a memory, a taste that remains,

Of frosty mornings and candy cane trains.

Grandparents' smiles and stories by the fire,

The scent of pine needles, a fragrant desire.

Gumdrops like starlight, scattered on the tongue,

A lullaby of sweetness, when Christmas was young.

Now, grown-up worries dim the festive cheer,

But Christmas gumdrops bring a nostalgic tear.

A taste of simpler times, a heart's gentle plea,

To find that childlike wonder, beneath the Christmas tree.