Mistletoe is hanging from the ceiling,
A wreath is covering the door.
Everything is red, green and gold,
There are Christmas decorations galore.
The Christmas tree sits in the corner,
With many presents on the floor.
Just waiting for that winter morning,
When the children cease to snore.
That cold, winter’s morning,
The children will be keen.
They will dash down the stairs,
To discover that Santa has been.
The yells and cries of excitement,
Will echo through the space.
As they rip open the wrapping paper,
As if it is a race.
The parents will love watching,
Although tired from Christmas Eve.
For they know it won’t be long,
Until their children no longer believe.
Emilie Turner 