tree frae a plastic grove.
Imitation con’les licht up a treesure trove.
Imitation mistletae wi’ an ilely sheen
an’ holly o’ vinyl, foriver ivergreen.
Strintlin’s o’ siller gleam alang wi’ angel hair,
braw beribboned presents, an’ ither Christmas fare.
Froast stors a’ oor windies, God’s wark frae a can,
symbolizin’ yon meenite thit it a’ began.
Bit no’ a’ is
imitation, soucht fur whit is real;
the kecklin’ o’ wee bairns, their hopes that mak’ us feel
the joy o’ Christmas. The streinth o’ faith cairries peace
tae troubled herts an’ minds, jist beggin’ fur release.
Ahent the illusions commercials screel an’ blaw,
the Speerit o’ Christmas is no’ sae for awa’.
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