Christmas Morning
Christmas Morning
Sting of cold tiles against tiny toes -
Hop, shiver, skip! Down the stairs she goes
With that misplaced halo
Of snow-blonde hair
And a chest full of glee.
She almost forgets
Not to land on the third step -
The one that always creaks
(And makes it so hard to sneak
Through the dark, quiet house).
On chilled tip-toes, she creeps.
Around the corner, she peeks,
Spying magical things.
The tree glitters and glimmers
Above full stockings
And gift-wrapped miracles.
She stares with wide eyes
Until the sun stirs in the sky.
Her mother finds her asleep
Beneath the Christmas tree.
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