Tis the night before Christmas, the moon soft and bright,
when dreams tiptoe quietly through velvety night.
The town holds its breath, every window aglow,
as secrets of wonder begin to outgrow.
Stockings whisper of wishes, long hidden away,
of courage and warmth and a brighter next day.
Even clocks seem to pause, giving hope just one chance
to slip through the dark in a silvery dance.
Down chimneys of doubt and through doorways of care,
comes magic disguised as a moment to share.
Not measured in gifts nor wrapped up with a bow,
but found in kind words we forget how to show.
For Christmas, they say, is not born from the sleigh,
but from hearts that choose light when the world feels like grey.
And so in that night, calm, gentle, and still,
a spark learns to glow — simply because we will.
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