Tiny Ronin, sweet and small, Cradled in a skateboard hall. No manger soft, no hay so deep, A ramp his bed, a dream to keep. Aboard his board, he’ll soar and fly, Beneath the stars, up to the sky. No shepherds watch, no angels sing, But skaters cheer, a joyful ring. Ronin’s music, a beat so strong, Echoes through the night, all night long. A legacy of grunge, A spirit free, a heart of gold.