Silent as the snow that falls
On boughs of holly and Evergreen,
a little house sleeps, dreaming
Of sugar plums that wreath the halls.
Then there comes a great clatter
and a boisterous laugh:
A sign that Christmas has come at last
To this little house where the little things matter,
Like stockings and cookies and milk by the fire.
Snug tight in their beds, they hear not a sound,
All but one, a girl just past two, her brown
Eyes widening at the sight of a sugar plum choir.
Softly, they sing, the notes only for her,
And then comes the jolly old geezer,
Eyes twinkling with chilidsh glee,
Laying small presents by each tinseled tree
Placed at the foot of each bed, a teaser
For the bounty he’s left in the room below.
Pressing a finger to his lips, he alights
Down the hall, the little girl following,
And she glumly watches the stockings
Sway as his boots whisk out of sight.
But then her heart lifts
As she hears a great cry through the night:
“Merry Christmas to all!
And to all, goodnight!”
Poem by Ian Miller, marketing associate for Golden Scoop
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