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 little toe.
The tree was subjected to bright-eyed whims,
And now, although splendid, is 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 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 is written above,
And tell us that, most of all, Christmas is love.
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