Standing in the cold with her Wise Man’s gold,
Donning a berry-red dress and a Gucci vest,
Standing all alone.
The Rockefeller crowd cannot seem to notice,
This lovely lady by the tree,
Her name is Mary Christmas.
Mistletoe hangs over powdered boughs,
As Mary takes her holy vow—
To make Christmas merry now.
Heaven’s snow that she does sow
And honest love that only grows,
Tied with hearts and radiant bows,
Preparing us all for the winter show.
A gold affair.
Paired with shining silver;
Children walk along the streets,
Admiring snowy rooftops.
While tucked in cozy bed sheets,
They pray their homes are gift stops.
Dancers and crooners go their way,
Shouting cheers of old, of gold, and gay.
Children hold bows, dressing Christmas trees.
As Mary walks from street to street,
New snow falls and dusts her feet.
She carries on from road to road,
Feeling herself disappear.
But the lights are bright.
She won’t fade tonight;
The First Noel is near.
Chestnuts roast with champagne toasts,
As we rock around the tree,
Singing about snow and how we won’t go home,
Because the weather outside is frightful,
And the fire is too delightful.
The merriest of all
Sits alone and in the cold.
We call to her, but she fails to stir,
Gazing out the window.
Her eyes lock past the glass watching Santa go,
And all the broken hearts aglow
As they flurry through the snow.
We pray tonight won’t be the last,
Although her tears are slow.
Christmas is here.
How could we not care?
Snowflakes fall from everywhere,
Like dancing magic in the air,
So strong we feel it in our hair—
The kind that brings the tears,
When we reflect on the years,
When Christmas meant love.
We cannot leave her in the cold.
She is true beauty. Look! Behold!
I pity the hard hearts in the city—
The ones too blind to see,
That she is more than the Christmas tree.