Because the holidays are upon us and because the holidays often bring to mind old times with my family, I offer this poem from Robert Service. He was an extended family favorite and I recall times when my aunts and uncles would regale us with memorized stanzas from “The Cremation of Sam McGee” or “The Shooting of Dan McGrew”, orated from the first landing of the stairs to anyone in the living room willing to listen. (I’m quite sure that sounds nerdy and very circa 1874, but they are my memories so they are somehow wonderful to me.)

This is a favorite of mine from “The Collected Poems of Robert Service”

The Sceptic

My Father Christmas passed away
When I was barely seven.
At twenty-one, alack-a-day,
I lost my hope of heaven.

Yet not in either lies the curse:
The hell of it’s because
I don’t know which loss hurt the worse –
My God or Santa Claus.