The Christmas Letter

They sent a Christmas letter.
They do it every year.
As usual, I dread this note.
I opened it with fear.

And yes, the news was awful.
I knew that it would be.
Somebody else might give a smile.
Believe me, that’s not me.

They just got back from Europe,
a week (no! two!) in Rome.
But now they are back in the states,
so happy to be home.

Their next trip is Australia.
They haven’t been there yet.
But rest assured next Christmas time
I’ll read of it, you bet.

Their oldest is a doctor
(of course she is, you know).
I’m sure she still does modeling
when she’s not on the go.

The middle child’s an actor.
You’ve seen him on TV.
And he’ll be on the big screen soon,
a star, you must agree.

And then there is the baby,
the music prodigy.
Oh yes, she’ll be a nova too.
Now you just wait and see.

Of course they sent some pictures,
their perfect teeth and hair.
They even have a perfect dog,
I’m telling you, I swear.

I always hate this letter.
It makes me feel so sad.
But then I have to calm myself,
remember to be glad.

No, we didn’t go to Europe.
And perfect we are not.
But when it comes right down to it
I know we have a lot.

Yes, everyone is healthy
and we’re all doing well.
Even our dog enjoys herself,
as far as I can tell.

But I won’t write a letter.
No, I don’t want to brag.
Just then our dog came up to me
and gave her tail a wag.