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I hung the sprig of Mistletoe, above my hopeful frame, A silent plea, a single wish, To spark a familiar flame.
You wandered by with a puzzled glance, Unknowing of the lore, I stood beneath, with bated breath without defeat, And hoped for something more.
The winters stills, the faux fire’s glow, A moment’s chance to seize, Yet still you passed, oblivious, To ancient rites such as these.
Oh, if you knew the magic here, The kiss that it could bring, Perhaps you’d pause, and in your heart, You’d hear my heart and mind plea.
But still I wait, with patient heart, Beneath the verdant bough, For you to see, and come to me, And share a kiss with me.
And then it happened, You took me by surprise. I had given up hope, and you kissed me just to spite my doubts; and oh, did I want more.
But I’ll take the kiss, Treasure it so. Until the time for us to go chimes upon us once more. And retreat we will, to bask within sacred walls that see us as we fall.