Mistletoe is hanging, hanging up above, Looking, looking for two people in love.
Seeing, seeing every kiss passing through, Mistletoe is waiting, waiting for me and you.
Mistletoe grows in the trees on my street. But I haven't found anyone to climb up and get the treat. But I don't really need to get that personal aid, because my partner showered me with kisses as part of her trade, Santa's little mistress, she.
Lovely poem for those wishing they had a sweetheart to kiss.
Lovely poem for those wishing they had a sweetheart to kiss.
Ron