Coal In Her Stocking

It was Christmas morn’, back in ninety-five,

Snow on the ground, the world felt alive.

The tree lights blinked, soft and slow,

But her stocking held just a lump of coal.

Mama said, “Santa knows it all,

Good hearts rise, and the bad ones fall.”

Coal in her stocking, black as night,

Santa saw through her wrongs, made it right.

For every cruel word, every mean little shove,

That coal spoke louder than any love.

She’d pull my hair, call me names,

Make me feel small, play her games.

But that morning, I saw it clear,

Someone else knew what I’d feared.

Coal in her stocking, black as night,

Santa saw through her wrongs, made it right.

For every cruel word, every mean little shove,

That coal spoke louder than any love.

I wasn’t alone, I wasn’t unseen,

That lump of coal cut through the mean.

It said, “I see you, little one, hold tight,

The truth will always win the fight.”