Whan I awoke,From night-long sleep
I knew what there would be
I smelled my mothers' baking and
I think I smell the tree

I wonder if the gifts are wrapped
And all the lights are lit
The ornaments I helped unpack
(So much that with the other stuff).
I'm sure they won't all fit

Last night I saw the turkey
Allready for the roaast
With spices and with stuffing
Made up of stale toast

I hear the feeble tinkle of
The wind-chime at the door
And I see Ma waiting
For just one tinkle more

Then there's the Christmas music
Which I can almost feel
With the organ and the trumpets
And the chorus all so real

But I awaken slowly
To a world where all is dark
Where dreams and olden memories
Have only left their mark

There is no Mom no turkey
There is no Christmas tree
In dreams are where you'll find them
When you are eighty-three