Tis the night before Christmas, when all through the place,
Not a creature was stirring—no mouse dared a race.
The stockings were hung by the fire with such care,
In hopes that Saint Nicholas soon would be there.
The embers glowed softly, the hearth whispered warm,
While snow painted rooftops in silvery form.
The children lay dreaming of wonders untold,
Of sleigh bells and laughter and secrets of gold.
When out on the porch there arose such a clatter,
A hush fell inside—what could possibly matter?
Then magic swept in with a laugh and a cheer,
And Christmas arrived, right on time, every year.
Stake: hugomiguel2002