Cold winds blow through city streets as winter's grip takes hold, and grey souls in downbeat worlds retreat to lies untold. Rain-lashed pavements now are bare: there's little chance of snow, but in grim, northern climates, an oasis starts to glow. Christmas days are here, once more: those warm, enchanting times. Chance to cast off gloomy dawns: relive those joyful climes. Don't call on me, Saint Nicholas, just pass me by, this year. Life's been good to me again: no cause to shed a tear. A lady who lives by me would welcome your next call. She's seen no kin for ages: no visits to enthral. A lonely girl in hospital gave birth: a baby boy. She has no one to share her load; your smile would bring her joy. I saw a child in council care: a broken, battered waif. A visit from such as you would prove to him he's safe. A sad, old man walks my street; no one has time for stares. Would you please take hold his hand and show him someone cares? Winter's chill now stalks the land: those dark, foreboding clouds, but Christmas cheer brings happiness to Man's enduring crowds. Please call on me, Saint Nicholas: next year, around this time. I may be a grey-faced one in need of love, sublime. |
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