A Puppy’s Christmas

A Puppy’s Christmas

It’s the day before Christmas
And all through the house
The puppies
are squeaking
An old rubber mouse.

 The wreath which had merrily
Hung on the door
Is scattered in
All over the floor.

The stockings that hung
In a neat little row
Now boast a hole in
Each one of the toes.

The tree was subjected
To bright-eyed whims,
And now, although
It’s missing some limbs.


I catch them and hold them.
“Be good”, I insist.
They lick me, then
run off
To see what they’ve missed.

And now as I watch them
The thought comes to me,
That theirs is the
That Christmas should be.

Should children and puppies
Yet show us the way,
And teach us the
That should come with this day?

Could they bring the message
That’s written above,
And tell us
that, most of all
Christmas is love.



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