The silver pine is lit with strands of blue, a robin's tucked beside the window sill. Tonight is Christmas Eve, I'll think of you.
My kitchen is aglow, the baking through. A scent of ginger cookies warms the chill, the silver pine is lit with strands of blue.
Each greeting card is propped up for review and presents form a multicolored hill. Tonight is Christmas Eve, I'll think of you.
Small rose-lipped children warm their hands and view the fire, little toes are pink and still. The silver pine is lit with strands of blue.
Knit stockings on the mantle hang askew with plastic toys and candy canes that spill across their rims. And all the songs we knew
and learned throughout the years, seem ever true around this joyous season of goodwill— when silver pines are lit with stands of blue and every Christmas Eve I think of you.
First one
The sliver pine is lit with strands of blue, a robin's tucked beside the window sill. Tonight is Christmas Eve, I'll think of you.
My kitchen is aglow, the baking, through. A scent of ginger cookies warms the chill, the silver pine is lit with strands of blue.
Each greeting card is propped up for review and presents form a colored, layered hill. Tonight is Christmas Eve, I'll think of you.
Small rose-lipped children warm their hands and view the fire, little toes are pink and still. The silver pine is lit with strands of blue.
Knit stockings on the mantle hang askew with plastic toys and candy canes that spill across their rims. And all the songs we knew
and learned throughout the years, seem ever true around this joyous season of goodwill— when silver pines are lit with stands of blue and every Christmas Eve I think of you.
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