Oh, How we all dream
Of a Christmas white as snow
Yet for many it would seem
This is something they will never know
And even those fortunate few
Whose Christmas is white as snow
They would rather see a fresh dew
Than the feet of snow they know
But there are some
Whose Christmas is not white
Their trees are green, their garden full
Even though they want with all their might
They seek a Christmas
Pulled straight from a song
Yet their dreams are an isthmus
They may never see the white for which they long
Whether your Christmas is white
and cold with snow and ice
or green and warm and quite nice
Be happy, not trite