'Twas the night before Christmas
When all through the land
Women who have baked and
Packaged and planned
Await the morrow, like the
Garlanded tree,
With the hush of nostalgic
Expectancy.

There was that year all the
Gifts were home made.
("It's the thought that counts,
Not what you've paid")
Of course, grandma's scarf
Could have fit a giraffe
And the glaze soon came
Off Aunt Jane's carafe.

Ah yes, it's Christmas when
Our feet are sore
From traipsing around in
Store after store.
Yet our heats know the
Joy strangers' smiles have
Wished us
As we meet in passing:
A MERRY CHRISTMAS!