This year my Christmas tree is fake
It’s seventy degrees
The cactuses wear Santa hats
Birds are singing in the trees
It’s too warm for a roaring fire
Sunglasses on my nose
With every sunny December day
My deep frustration grows
I dream of snow upon the ground
Being cozy by a fire
The smell of a real pine Christmas tree
This is my heart’s desire
But it’s my last desert Christmas
So I’ll soak up all the sun
And smile at light wrapped cacti
When I go out to run
Next year in Colorado
My heart will sing its song
For I’ll have my sweet “White Christmas”
I’ve been wanting for so long.
