It’s not about the presents,
Underneath the Christmas tree.
Nor the tinsel or the bows,
Or the largely overdrawn fees.
It’s not about old Santa Claus,
Or pulling a one horse sleigh.
It’s not about the money,
Spent so freely before Christmas Day.
It’s not about the snow,
That covers most of the ground.
It’s not about red-nosed Rudolph,
Or the carols you hear all around.
It’s not about the mistletoe,
Or candy in your stuffed sock.
It’s not about the warm fireplace,
That brightly glows red hot.
It’s not about the food,
The turkey, chicken or pig.
It’s not about getting stuff,
For which you ask and plea and beg.
It’s about the joy of Christmas,
Spending time with family and friends.
About sharing stories ‘round the table,
And the blessings they will bring.
It’s not about the Grinch,
Who stole Christmas that one day.
It’s not about the angels,
But there’s one thing I need to say.
It’s about a girl named Mary,
Who had a son named Jesus.
It’s about how God’s Son came to earth,
And became one of us.
It’s about that little stable,
Where a miracle was born.
It’s never been about the presents,
Rather the babe born on that Christmas morn.
