• The smell of pines rises through the air
    As busles of moving bodies scurry about,
    Trying to find the perfect gifts for all.
    The sound of bells ring in the backround.

    Bitter winter nips at the noses of passerbys,
    As frost decorates everything it touches.
    The cry of children's play can be heard
    From a nearby playground with hovering mom,
    Ready to smooth scrapes with a kiss.

    I sit on my little park bench observing,
    Wishing that I could join the fun as well.
    A young man passes by but stops for me
    "Why aren't you home?" the man asked.

    I shrug my shoulders as I turn my head,
    "I've got no home nor family" I tell him.
    No tears fall for I've become numb to this,
    But what the man says next brings tears,

    "Then come with me, there's room at my table.
    My family wouldn't mind." He offers.
    I look up at him in wonder and confusion,
    As silver tears trickle down my face.

    "Yes please." I say as I take his hand.
    We walk hand in hand as I send up a thank you.
    As the wind begins to bellow and whine,
    the scent of pine reaches my nose.