When the bitter December air blows and the girl
screams on the street corner, a Christmas list of dreams and demands
in her unrelenting grip, a bit homesick, though she is young,
wishing her poppa hadn't drifted so far
from who he was when she was born.

When at school the boy had day dreamed of staying home
and keeping the door closed--
now amidst his mother's disillusioned cries to be understood
and the solace of the radio in his room,
he imagines himself singing "Blue Christmas" like Elvis
and impressing all the kids at school.

When the young woman pulls a tray of chocolate chip cookies
from the oven and turns on the television,
wishing there was someone there to share them
and so she opens the window and smells the night,
the snow approaching with the wind from beyond the moonlight.

And the young man strikes the guitar strings with fingers
cold to the bone, a tragic tale sung in every note
but his heart beats warmly and echoes up the street
along the cool walls of every home
in search of something kind
underneath the December sky.