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 pieces
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 splendid,
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 their's is the spirit
That Christmas should be.
Should children and puppies
Yet show us the way,
And teach us the joy
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.
