Twas the day before Christmas, when all through the house, the natives were
stirring and scaring the mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, then ripped off by the
youngest whilst the oldest did stare.
The creatures were nestled but not in their beds, amidst the tornado of
toys they rested their heads.
Mama watched in defeat while they refused to nap, but instead plotted to
achieve the nice list without sitting on Santa’s lap.
When out in the family room there
arose such a clatter, I sprang from my desk to see what was the matter. The
lights from the tree lying on the floor all aglow gave the luster of midday to
the natives below. When what to my overwhelmed eyes should appear, but a stray
cat whom the natives had let out of the cold to stay in here.
To the top of the fridge to the top
of the wall, scribbles of crayon from the youngest for all.
As I drew my head and was turning around, down came the garland without making a sound.
Their eyes, how they twinkled, they were plainly quite merry, with powdered
sugar on their noses from the cookies and berries. They were jolly, I was sunk,
those right jolly young elves and I laughed when I saw them in spite of myself.
The youngest spoke not a word but went straight to his work, unwrapping
some presents then calling me "jerk."
Then running with ribbons and ripping up bows, acting quite oddly, down
the hallway he goes.
But I heard him exclaim, as he ran
out of sight, my work here is done, love you mommy, night night.
From our Jungle to Yours,
Merry Christmas.
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