There stands a tree, in the dark.
Out in the lot, cold and stark.
It's Christmas Eve, in the city.
It's oddly shaped, kind of bent.
Branches bare of Ornament.
No colored lights, twinkling pretty.
Comes a hush, while church bells ring.
Hear the choirs, begin to sing,
as snow, begins to fall, gently.
A homeless man, shuffles past.
Hunched against, winters blast.
Stops, for the shelter of the tree.
He hears the bells and the songs.
Raspily, he sings along.
Smiling faintly, at childhood memories.
As snow settles, on the boughs,
removes his cap, from his brow.
Places it, on the tree top that leans.
To view his star, he steps back,
coughing deep, as his lungs rack.
Life, has not treated him kindly.
He sits down, beneath the tree,
pulls round his tattered coat, closely.
Feeling, cold, tired and hungry.
This old man, alone in life.
Fought in wars, lost his wife.
Wanders, now the streets, aimlessly.
He who never prayed before.
Never passed through a church door,
tonight he whispers, reverently....
"Lord, I'm not the best of men."
"I've committed grievous sins."
"They've led me here, now, to what you see".
"There's no one else, I can blame."
"I must answer, for my own shame."
"I only ask, can you forgive me?"
As his eyes, begin to close,
he sees, one last time, the tree decked in snow.
Swears, he hears angels, heavenly.
He no longer feels the weather.
He now feels light as a feather,
as he dreams, on his last Christmas Eve