They stare through the window,
As the white gold descends.
They open their door,
And that modest arm extends.
Those precious fingers close,
And rosy cheeks rise in play.
Resting in that hand,
A piece of Christmas lay.
The little one’s run to mothers inside,
Asking to go play with snow.
But then the sadness grips them when,
Their mother refuses to let them go.
Again they sit by the window to see,
All the other kids playing in glee.
They dream about if they could be with them,
But then they see him, flying magically.














