Tis that time of year once again
when children glow amongst the lights on pine
awaiting Santa to descend down chimney pots
amongst the mince pies and alcohol beset to dine.
Whispers amongst parents, heard under pillows
a thousand secrets over years of time
will he, or wont he, am I good or bad?
the charades of anticipation in the noel bribed rhyme.
The glow of a nose guiding a sledge of truth
without Jesus nor God, just the red and the white
the snow it may tumble on the cards of the past
the decadent minced on pies of cartwheels delight.
Even the non believer can not stare into the eyes
into the son or the daughter and melt like the snow
with the history of pillow cases filled with gifts and no regrets
the dimmest cynical lights can illuminate and glow.
And so this is Christmas, beyond childhood pain
lets make it a new one, beyond the history we once knew
and gather a promise, amongst shadows of snow
this is glad tidings with white over blue.
So parents relax, within a knowledge of the myth
just as there ma and pa did on one winters eve
although we claimed, we would never do this
the power of Christmas forced us all to believe.
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