Christmas Wish

Sitting in rags all tattered and torn He gazed through the window and loved what he saw A raging coal fire, and some children to play Just what he wished for on a cold winters day The frost bit his finger and nibbled at his nose and his shoes, thin as paper, could not warm his toes But the warmth and the love that the family there told Reached into his heart and blessed his wee soul The dear little beggar boy was welcomed inside To share christmas gifts and a log of yuletide A meal that he'd dreamed of was served in a dish And the sweet little child got his christmas wish Sat near the roadside, a cup in his hand sat a merchant, a peasant, a pitiful man Selling flowers to towns folk, from graves freshly plucked He watched as the villagers tucked into roast duck Nose pressed to the entrance, inhaling the feast He licked his dry mouth as they carved the cooked beast A little old lady arose from her pew and gladly she told him "There's plenty for you" All grubby and dusty with an ache in her back A frail, crinkled lady read palms from a shack Not making much money, spending winter alone She watched families rejoicing, and wished for her own Trying to remember, a life led before With her sister and daughters, before she was poor A kind gent passed by her and decided to spend his christmas or longer, for she needed a friend Sat at the butchers and begging for meat Dusty the mongrel was just under their feet Just a scavenger, all dirty, they shoo'd him away and he got used to the harshness of being homeless each day Tucked beneath hedges, to escape winters bite He flopped down his head, and he slept for the night Dreaming of children who'd bring him a bone Rescued by a schoolgirl who gave him a home What do you dream of, when you're sat all alone Money and chocolate, a new mobile phone Or the simplest things that are taken for granted Like a home and a family, to be loved and be wanted Do you think of others or not have a care when enjoying your holidays, do you have time to spare See the dear little beggar boy at your windowsil Let him in, spare a second, 'tis the season of goodwill